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HUNGRY    HEART 


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.V 


The 
Hungry  Heart 

A    NOVEL 


BY 

DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURES  OF 
JOSHUA  CRAIG,  OLD  WIVES  FOR  NEW 
THE  SECOND  GENERATION,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1909 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 


COURTSHIP  and  honeymoon  of  Richard  Vaughan  and 
Courtney  Benedict  are  told  accurately  enough  by  a  thou- 
sand chroniclers  of  love's  fairy  tales  and  dreams.  Where 
such  romances  end  in  a  rosily  vague  "  And  they  lived  hap- 
pily ever  after/'  there  this  history  begins.  Richard  and 
Courtney  have  returned  from  Arcady  to  reality,  to  central 
Indiana  and  the  Vaughan  homestead,  across  the  narrow 
width  of  Wenona  the  lake  from  Wenona  the  town. 

The  homecoming  was  late  in  a  June  evening,  with  a  per- 
fumed coolness  descending  upon  the  young  lovers  from  the 
grand  old  trees,  round  the  Vaughan  house  like  his  body- 
guard round  a  king.  Next  morning  toward  eight  Courtney, 
still  half  asleep,  reached  out  hazily.  Her  hand  met  only 
the  rumpled  linen  on  Richard's  side  of  the  huge  fourposter. 
She  started  up,  brushed  back  the  heavy  wave  of  auburn  hair 
fallen  over  her  brow,  gazed  down  at  his  pillow.  The  dent 
of  his  head,  but  not  he.  Her  eyes  searched  the  dimness. 
The  big  room  contained  only  a  few  large  pieces  of  old  ma- 
hogany ;  at  a  glance  she  saw  into  every  corner.  Alone  in  the 
room.  Her  eyes,  large  and  anxious  now,  regarded  the  half- 
open  door  of  the  dressing  room  to  the  rear. 

"  Dick !  "  she  called  hopefully. 

No  answer. 

"  Dick !  "  she  repeated,  a  note  of  doubt  in  her  voice. 
1 


2132089 


Silence. 

"  Dick !  "  she  repeated  reproachfully.  It  was  the  first 
morning  she  had  awakened  without  the  sense  of  his  near- 
ness that  had  become  so  dear,  so  necessary.  It  was  the  first 
morning  in  this  house  strange  to  her — in  this  new  life  they 
were  to  make  beautiful  and  happy  together.  She  gave  a 
forlorn  sigh  like  a  disappointed  child,  drew  up  her  knees, 
rested  her  elbows  upon  them,  and  her  small  head  upon  her 
hands.  Sitting  there  in  the  midst  of  that  bed  big  enough 
for  half  a  dozen  as  small  as  she,  she  suggested  a  butterfly 
poised  motionless  with  folded  wings.  A  moment  and  she 
lifted  her  drooped  head.  How  considerate  of  him  not  to 
wake  her  when  the  three  days  and  nights  on  train  had  been 
so  wearing! 

Swift  and  light  as  a  butterfly  she  sprang  from  the  bed, 
flung  open  the  shutters  of  the  lake-front  windows.  In 
poured  summer  like  gay  cavalcade  through  breach  in 
gloomy  walls — summer  in  full  panoply  of  perfume  and  soft 
air  and  sparkling  sunshine.  She  almost  laughed  aloud  for 
joy  at  this  timely  rescue.  She  gazed  away  across  the  lake 
to  the  town  where  she  was  born  and  bred.  "  Home !  "  she 
cried.  "  And  so  happy — so  utterly  happy !  "  Her  ex- 
pression, her  whole  manner,  her  quick  movements  gave 
the  impression  of  the  impulsive  self-unconsciousness  of  a 
child. 

It  was  a  radiant  figure,  small  and  perfect  like  a  sun 
sprite,  that  issued  from  the  room  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
later  to  flit  along  the  polished  oak  hall,  to  descend  a  stair- 
way glistening  like  hall  above  and  wider  and  loftier  hall 
below.  With  hair  piled  high  on  her  small  head,  with  tail 
of  matinee  over  her  arm  and  tall  heels  clicking  merrily  on 
the  steps,  she  whistled  as  she  went.  Some  people — women 
— criticised  that  laughter-loving  mouth  of  hers  as  too  wide 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

for  so  small  a  face.  It  certainly  did  not  suggest  a  button- 
hole. But  no  one  could  have  found  fault  with  the  shape 
of  the  mouth  or  with  the  coloring,  whether  of  the  lips  or 
within,  or  with  her  teeth,  pearl  white  and  seeming  the 
whiter  for  the  rose  bronze  of  her  skin — the  shade  that  seems 
to  be  of  the  essence  of  youth,  health,  and  summer.  Her  nose 
was  rather  large,  but  slender  and  well  shaped.  It  was  the 
nose  of  mobility,  of  sensitiveness,  of  intelligence,  not  at  all 
of  repose.  And  there  were  her  eyes,  of  a  strange  soft 
emerald,  with  long  dark  lashes;  the  brows  long  also  and 
only  slightly  curved,  and  slender  yet  distinct.  These  eyes 
were  her  greatest  beauty — greater  even  than  her  skin.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  to  say  whether  in  them  or  in  her 
mouth  lay  her  greatest  charm,  for  charm  is  not  always 
beauty,  and  beauty  often  wholly  lacks  charm. 

But  woman  feels  that  figure  determines  the  woman — • 
"  the  woman "  meaning,  of  course,  efficiency  as  a  man 
catcher.  It  was  upon  Courtney's  flawless  figure  that  the 
sour  glance  of  old  Nanny,  the  head  servant,  rested — old 
Nanny,  whose  puritanism  aggravated  for  her  by  suppression 
all  the  damned  charms  of  "  the  flesh."  Nanny  had  reigned 
supreme  in  that  house  ever  since  Dick  Vaughan  was  left 
alone;  so  from  the  first  news  of  the  engagement  she  had 
been  hating  Courtney,  whom  she  regarded  as  her  sup- 
planter.  As  Courtney  entered  the  dining  room,  stiff  and 
dim  and  chilly,  like  all  the  rooms  in  that  house,  old  Nanny 
was  superintending  fat,  subdued  Mazie  at  work  at  the 
breakfast  table.  It  occupied  the  exact  center  of  the  room, 
formal  as  for  a  state  banquet. 

"  Good  morning,"  cried  Courtney  in  her  charming  man- 
ner of  bright  friendliness.  "  Good  morning,  Mazie.  Am 
I  late  ?  Where's  Richard  ?  "  Her  voice  was  deeper  than 
one  would  have  expected,  but  low  and  musical. 

3 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Mazie  smiled  a  welcome,  then  cast  a  frightened  glance 
of  apology  at  Nanny,  who  did  not  smile.  "  Mr.  Richard's 
down  to  the  Smoke  House/'  said  she. 

The  Smoke  House  was  the  laboratory  Dick's  grand- 
father, Achilles  Vaughan,  had  built  for  him  on  the  site 
of  the  smoke  house  of  the  pioneer  Vaughan,  settler  there 
when  Wenona  was  a  trading  post  in  New  France.  "  Of 
course !  "  said  Courtney.  "  I  might  have  known.  He 
wanted  to  go  last  night,  but  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

Nanny  scowled  at  this  innocent,  laughing  "  I  wouldn't 
let  him."  She  turned  on  Mazie,  who  was  gazing  open- 
mouthed  at  Courtney's  simple,  fresh  finery.  "  What'r  ye 
gawkin'  here  fur,  with  your  mouth  hangin'  like  a  chicken 
with  the  gaps?  "  she  demanded  in  a  fierce  aside.  Mazie 
lumbered  through  the  door  into  the  kitchen.  "  As  I  was 
saying,"  continued  Nanny  to  her  new  mistress,  "  he's  put 
in  most  nigh  all  his  time  down  to  that  there  smoke  house 
— day  and  night — ever  since  his  aunt,  Miss  Eudosia,  died. 
Yes,  an'  before  that,  while  Colonel  'Kill,  his  grandfather, 
was  still  alive.  He's  got  sleeping  rooms  and  everything 
in  the  upstairs.  He  often  don't  come  here  even  to  meals 
for  weeks.  Mazie  or  Jimmie  carry  'em  to  him." 

Courtney  nodded.  "  A  regular  hermit.  It  was  the 
merest  chance  that  we  happened  to  meet." 

"  You  was  the  first  young  woman  he'd  laid  an  eye  on 
in  a  long  time." 

Nanny's  tone  was  colorless.  Only  a  very  stupid  woman 
puts  both  barb  and  poison  on  a  shaft  when  either  is  enough. 
Courtney,  who  understood  and  felt  remorseful  about  the 
old  woman's  jealous  anger,  answered  with  good-humored 
gentleness :  "  I  guess  that  was  why  I  got  him.  But  he'll 
not  be  a  hermit  any  more." 

"  He's  begun  already,"  said  Nanny. 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  We  mustn't  allow  it,"  replied  Courtney,  not  quite  so 
good-humoredly.  The  old  woman's  steady  bearing  down 
was  having  its  effect. 

"  There's  no  goin'  agin  nature.  The  Vaughan  men 
ain't  ever  bothered  much  about  women.  They  don't  let 
foolishness  detain  'em  long.  And  this  one's  his  gran'pr.w 
over  agin.  When  he  gits  at  his  work,  he's  like  a  dog  after 
a  rabbit." 

"  It  seems  a  little  chilly  and  damp  in  here,"  said  Court- 
ney. "  Do  help  me  open  the  windows.  I  love  sun  and 
air." 

"  Miss  Eudosia — "  began  Nanny,  and  checked  herself 
with  a  considerable  shortening  of  the  distance  between  chin 
and  end  of  nose. 

Courtney  understood  what  that  beginning  meant.  But 
she  ignored.  "  And,"  she  went  on,  busying  herself  with 
curtains  and  fastenings,  "  we'll  move  the  table  in  front  of 
this  big  window.  I  like  breakfast  near  the  window  in 
summer,  near  the  fire  in  winter." 

Nanny  lowered  upon  the  small  straight  young  figure,  so 
bright  and  graceful.  "  Miss  Eudosia — "  she  began  fiercely. 
Again  she  checked  herself,  but  it  was  to  say  with  bitterness, 
"  But  then  she's  dead — and  forgot." 

"No,  indeed!"  protested  Courtney.  "You'd  have 
thought  she'd  gone  only  a  few  months  ago  instead  of  four 
years  if  you'd  heard  Richard  talking  about  her  yesterday. 
And  I'm  sure  she'd  have  done  what  I'm  suggesting  if  she'd 
happened  to  think  of  it."  Then  with  a  look  that  might 
have  softened  any  but  a  woman  resolved  to  hate  another 
woman:  "  Do  try  to  humor  me  in  little  things,  Nanny.  I'll 
be  very  meek  about  things  that  do  matter.  I've  had  no 
experience  in  keeping  house.  You'll  teach  me,  won't  you?  " 

Nanny    stood    inflexible,    her    wrinkled    hands    folded 
5 


tightly  at  the  waist  line  of  her  black  alpaca.  She  could 
not  help  Courtney  displace  that  table  from  its  ancient  site. 
It  was  as  if  this  frivolous,  whistling,  useless  chit  of  an 
ornamental  wife  were  violating  the  sacred  Eudosia's  coffin 
— the  graves  of  all  the  Vaughans — for  traditions  are  graves, 
and  Nanny,  like  all  who  live  by  tradition,  lived  among 
graves.  After  a  time  Courtney,  more  nervous  under  those 
angry  eyes  than  she  showed,  got  the  table  at  the  open  win- 
dow. The  room  was  livable  now,  and  after  she  had  rear- 
ranged the  dishes  the  table  looked  invitingly  human.  But  her 
buoyant  young  enthusiasm  had  oozed  away.  With  wistful 
gaze  out  over  prim  lawns  and  flower  beds,  stiff  and  staid  as 
Sunday,  she  said:  "  I  guess  I'll  bring  Richard  to  breakfast." 

"  He  et  before  he  went." 

"  Oh !  "  Courtney's  tone  showed  that  she  was  hurt. 
But  she  instantly  brightened.  "  I'll  get  him  to  come  and 
sit  with  me  while  I  have  breakfast." 

A  covert  sneering  smile  in  the  depths  of  Nanny's  eyes 
made  her  flush  angrily.  "  If  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  inter- 
rupt him,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  He  don't  allow  it." 

"  How  absurd !  "  cried  Courtney.  But  straightway  she 
was  amazed  and  shocked  at  herself — on  this  her  first  morn- 
ing in  the  new  and  beautiful  life,  to  be  drawn  nearer  a 
vulgar  squabble  than  in  all  her  nineteen  years — and  with 
an  old  woman  toward  whom  it  would  be  cowardice  not  to 
be  forbearing.  "  I'm  cross  because  I'm  hungry,"  she  said 
contritely.  "  While  breakfast's  coming  I'll  run  down  for 
him." 

"  He's  set  in  his  ways,"  said  Nanny. 

"  He'll  not  mind  me — this  once."  And  she  took  up  her 
train  and  went  by  the  long  French  window  to  the  broad 
veranda  with  its  big  fluted  pillars.  At  the  end  steps  she 
paused.  Yes,  it  was  summer  in  the  Vaughan  grounds  as 

6 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

elsewhere.  But  that  prodigal  wanton  had  there  been 
caught,  had  had  her  tresses  sleeked  and  bound,  her  lux- 
uriant figure  corseted  and  clad  in  the  most  repellant 
classical  severity.  Courtney,  of  the  eyes  keen  for  color 
and  form  and  fitness  of  things,  felt  rebuked  and  subdued 
once  more.  She  glanced  farther  round,  saw  Nanny's 
parchment  face  and  sinister  gaze  watching  and  hating  her. 
There  is  a  limit  beyond  which  youth  refuses  to  be  sup- 
pressed and  compressed,  and  defiantly  expands  in  more 
than  its  natural  gay  audacity.  This  climax  of  Nanny,  rep- 
resentative of  Vaughans  not  so  rigid  in  death  as  they  had 
been  in  life,  was  just  the  necessary  little-too-much.  With 
a  laugh  and  a  toss  of  the  head,  she  swung  her  skirts  very 
high  indeed  above  her  pretty  ankles  and  ran  like  a  young 
antelope  across  the  lawn,  and  into  and  along  the  path 
leading  away  toward  the  eastern  part  of  the  grounds. 
Through  a  carefully  artificial  thicket  of  lilacs,  elders,  and 
snowballs  she  sped,  then  through  a  small  wood  with  not  a 
spray  of  underbrush  anywhere.  She  came  out  in  a  clear- 
ing at  the  water's  edge.  Before  her,  one  of  its  walls  ris- 
ing sheer  from  the  retaining  wall  of  the  lake,  stood  the 
laboratory. 

She  paused  astonished.  She  had  expected  a  temporary 
sort  of  structure.  Before  her  rose  a  fitting  temple  for  the 
mysteries  of  the  "  black  art."  It  was  a  long  two-story 
building  of  stone  and  brick,  not  visible  from  the  lake  proper 
because  it  stood  upon  the  bank  of  a  deep,  narrow  inlet. 
The  weather  had  stained  its  walls  into  the  semblance  of 
age  wherever  they  showed  through  the  heavy  mantle  of 
bitter-sweet  that  overspread  even  the  roof.  Around  the 
place  hung  an  air  of  aloofness  and  seclusion,  of  mystery, 
that  appealed  to  her  young  instinct  for  the  romantic.  The 
brick  path  divided  into  two.  One  went  to  what  was  ob- 

7 


viously  the  entrance  to  the  second-story  bachelor  suite;  the 
other  turned  to  the  left,  rounded  the  corner  of  the  house, 
ended  at  the  massive  iron  door  of  the  laboratory  proper. 

This  door  was  wide  open.  Courtney  stood  upon  the 
threshold  like  a  bright  bird  peering  from  the  sunshine  into 
the  entrance  to  a  cave.  The  air  that  came  out  was  heavy 
with  the  odors  of  chemicals,  but  not  sharp  or  especially 
unpleasant.  Besides,  in  high  school  and  college  she  had 
done  a  good  deal  at  chemistry,  enough  to  be  seized  of  its 
fascination.  She  stood  gazing  into  a  big  high-ceilinged 
room,  filled  with  a  bewildering  variety  of  unusual  articles — 
gigantic  bottles,  cylinders,  vials,  jars  of  glass,  of  stone, 
of  metal;  huge  retorts  with  coils  of  pipe,  lead  and  rub- 
ber; lamps  and  balances  and  mortars;  tiers  on  tiers  of 
crowded  shelves  of  glass  and  porcelain  and  iron;  drying 
ovens,  distilling  apparatus,  condensers  and  generators, 
crushers  and  pulverizers,  cupels  and  cupel  trays,  calorime- 
ters and  crucibles  and  microscopes;  floor  all  but  filled  with 
batteries  and  engines  and  machines  of  gold  and  platinum, 
of  aluminum  and  copper,  of  brass  and  steel  and  glass  and 
nickel.  A  thousand  articles,  in  the  orderly  confusion  that 
indicates  constant  use. 

She  was  more  and  more  amazed  as  she  stared  and  re- 
flected. "  He  works  with  all  these  things !  "  thought  she, 
depressed  for  no  clear  reason.  "  I  had  no  idea — no  idea !  " 

She  ventured  a  step  farther.  In  a  twinkling  her  ex- 
pression of  wonder  and  vague  pain  vanished  before  a  love 
light  that  seemed  to  stream  not  from  her  face  only,  but 
from  her  whole  body,  with  those  rare  eyes  of  hers  as  radi- 
ating centers.  She  was  seeing  Richard — near  a  window,  so 
standing  that  his  long  high-bred  face  was  in  profile  to 
her.  He  was  tall,  well  above  six  feet;  his  careless  flan- 
nels revealed  the  strong,  slender,  narrow  form  of  the  pio- 

8 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

neers  and  their  pure-blooded  descendants.  His  fairish 
hair  was  thick  and  wavy —  "  Thank  Heaven,  not  curly !  " 
thought  Courtney. 

She  did  not  interrupt.  She  preferred  to  watch  him, 
to  let  her  glance  caress  him,  all  unconscious  of  her  pres- 
ence. In  one  hand  he  was  balancing  a  huge  bottle;  the 
other  held  a  long  test  tube.  He  was  slowly  dropping  the 
bottle's  contents  of  quiet  colorless  liquid  into  the  test  tube, 
which  was  half  full  of  a  liquid,  also  quiet  and  colorless. 
Each  drop  as  it  touched  the  surface  of  the  liquid  dissolved 
into  black  steam.  It  was  this  steam  that  gave  off  the 
pungent  odor.  As  she  watched,  there  came  a  slow  tighten- 
ing at  her  throat,  at  her  heart. 

"  I  never  saw  him  look  like  this,"  thought  she.  No, 
it  wasn't  his  serious  intentness;  one  of  the  things  she  had 
first  noted  about  him,  and  best  loved,  was  the  seriousness 
of  his  deep-set  dark  gray  eyes — the  look  of  the  man  who 
"  amounts  to  something,"  and  would  prove  it  before  he 
got  through.  No,  it  was  the  kind  of  seriousness.  She  felt 
she  was  seeing  a  Richard  Vaughan  she  did  not  know  at  all. 
"  But,  then,"  she  reflected,  "  there's  a  side  of  me  he  doesn't 
know  about  either."  This,  however,  did  not  satisfy  her. 
The  man  she  was  now  seeing  disquietingly  suggested  that 
the  Richard  Vaughan  she  had  been  knowing  and  loving  and 
had  been  loved  by  was  not  the  real  man  at  all,  but  only 
one  of  his  moods.  "  I  thought  he  just  amused  himself 
with  chemistry.  Instead —  Nanny  is  about  right."  A 
pang  shot  through  her;  she  would  have  recognized  it  as 
jealousy,  had  she  stopped  to  think.  But  at  nineteen  one 
does  not  stop  to  think.  "  I  do  believe  he  cares  almost  as 
much  for  this  as  he  does  for  me." 

He  lowered  the  bottle  to  the  table.  As  he  straightened 
up,  he  caught  sight  of  her.  His  expression  changed;  but 

9 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  change  was  not  nearly  enough  either  in  degree  or  in 
kind  to  satisfy  her.  "  Hello !  "  cried  he  carelessly.  "  Good 
morning." 

She  got  ready  to  be  kissed.  But,  instead  of  coming 
toward  her,  he  half  turned  away,  to  hold  the  test  tube  up 
between  his  eyes  and  the  light.  "  Um — um,"  he  grumbled, 
shaking  it  again  and  again,  and  each  time  looking  disap- 
pointedly at  the  unchanged  liquid. 

Like  all  American  girls  of  the  classes  that  shelter  their 
women,  she  had  been  brought  up  to  accept  as  genuine  the 
pretense  of  superhuman  respect  and  deference  the  Ameri- 
can man — usually  in  all  honesty — affects  toward  woman — 
until  he  marries  her,  or  for  whatever  reason  becomes  tired 
and  truthful.  She  had  been  confirmed  in  these  ideas  of 
man  as  woman's  incessant  courtier,  almost  servant,  by  re- 
ceiving for  the  last  five  lively  years  the  admiration,  exag- 
gerated and  ardent,  which  physical  charm,  so  long  as  it 
is  potent,  exacts  from  the  male.  No  more  than  other 
women  of  her  age — or  than  older  women — or  than  the  men 
— had  she  penetrated  the  deceptive  surface  of  things  and 
discovered  beneath  "  chivalry's  "  smug  meaningless  profes- 
sions the  reality,  the  forbearance  of  "  strength "  with 
"  weakness,"  the  graciousness  of  superior  for  inferior. 
Thus,  such  treatment  as  this  of  Dick's  would  have  been 
humiliating  from  a  casual  man,  on  a  casual  occasion.  From 
her  husband,  her  lover,  the  man  she  had  just  been  gar- 
landing with  all  the  fairest  flowers  of  her  ardent  young 
heart — from  him,  and  on  this  "  first "  morning,  this  uncon- 
cern, which  Nanny's  talk  enabled  her  to  understand,  was 
worse  than  stab  into  feminine  vanity;  it  was  stab  straight 
into  her  inmost  self,  the  seat  of  her  life. 

She  dared  not  admit  the  wound — not  to  her  own  secret 
thought.  Bravely  she  struggled  until  her  voice  and  manner 

10 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

were  under  control.  "  I've  come  to  take  you  to  breakfast/' 
said  she.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  tone  was  gratifying 
evidence  of  triumph  of  strength  of  character  over  "  silly 
supersensitiveness — as  if  Dick  could  mean  to  hurt  me  I  " 

"  Breakfast,"  repeated  he.  His  gaze  was  discontent- 
edly upon  the  bottle  whose  contents  had  acted  disappoint- 
ingly. "  Breakfast —  Oh,  yes —  Don't  wait  on  me.  I 
had  coffee  before  I  came  down  here.  I'll  be  along  in  a 
few  minutes."  He  took  up  the  bottle  again,  resumed  the 
cautious  pouring. 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes;  her  lip  quivered.  But 
sweet  reasonableness  conquered  again,  and  she  perched  on 
a  high  stool  near  the  door.  She  gazed  round,  tried  to 
interest  herself  in  the  certainly  extraordinary  exhibits  on 
floor  and  tables  and  shelves.  She  recalled  the  uses  of  the 
instruments  she  recognized,  tried  to  guess  the  uses  of  those 
that  were  new  to  her.  But  her  mind  refused  to  wander 
from  the  one  object  that  really  interested  her  in  that  room. 
Perhaps  ten  minutes  passed,  she  watching  him,  he  watch- 
ing the  unchanged  liquid  in  the  test  tube. 

She  had  been  born  in  her  father's  and  mother's  prime. 
She  had  been  taught  to  use  her  brain.  Thus,  underneath 
the  romantic  and  idealizing  upper  strata  of  her  character 
there  was  the  bedrock  of  good  common  sense,  to  resist  and 
to  survive  any  and  all  shocks.  As  she  sat  watching  her 
engrossed  husband  her  love,  her  fairness,  and  her  good 
sense  pleaded  for  him,  or,  rather,  protested  against  her  sen- 
sitiveness. What  a  dear  he  was !  And  how  natural  that 
he  should  be  absorbed  in  these  experiments,  after  having 
been  away  so  long.  What  right  had  she  to  demand  that  his 
mood  should  be  the  same  as  hers?  What  a  silly  child  she 
had  shown  herself,  expecting  him  to  continue  to  act  as  if 
love  making  were  the  whole  of  life.  If  he  were  to  be,  and 

11 


HUNGRY   HEART 


to  do  exactly  as  she  wished,  would  she  not  soon  grow  sick 
of  him,  as  of  the  other  men,  who  had  thought  to  win  her 
by  inviting  her  to  walk  on  them?  Her  eyes  were  sweet 
and  tender  when  Dick,  happening  to  glance  seeingly  in 
her  direction,  saw  her  ensconced,  chin  on  hand,  elbow  on 
knee.  "  Hello,"  said  he  half  absently.  "  Good  morning." 

There  was  no  room  for  doubt;  he  had  completely  for- 
gotten her.  As  her  skin  was  not  white,  but  of  delicate  pale 
yet  rosy  bronze,  it  did  not  readily  betray  change  of  emotion. 
But  such  a  shock  had  he  given  her  sensitive  young  heart,  in 
just  the  mood  of  love  and  longing  to  be  most  easily  bruised, 
that  even  his  abstraction  was  penetrated.  He  set  the  bottle 
down.  "  Didn't  I  speak  to  you  —  "  he  began,  and  then 
remembered.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  contrite  and 
amused. 

Pride  always  hides  a  real  wound.  She  smiled.  "  I'm 
waiting  to  take  you  to  breakfast,"  she  said. 

He  looked  uncertainly  at  the  bottle  and  the  tube. 

A  wave  of  remorse  for  her  thoughts  swept  over  her. 
"  Also,"  she  went  on,  and  she  was  radiant  again,  "  I'm 
waiting  to  be  kissed." 

He  laughed,  gazed  lovingly  at  her.  "  What  a  beauty 
she  is,  this  morning,"  he  cried.  "  Like  the  flowers  —  the 
roses  —  the  finest  rose  that  every  grew  —  in  a  dream  of 
roses." 

Her  eyes  at  once  showed  that  his  negligence  was  for- 
gotten. Their  lips  met  in  a  lingering  kiss.  He  drew 
away,  threw  back  his  head,  gazed  at  her.  "  Was  there 
ever  woman  so  lovely  and  fresh  and  pure  ?  "  he  said.  With 
impulsive  daring  she  overcame  her  virginal  shyness,  flung 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him.  "  I  love  you," 
she  murmured,  blushing.  "  When  I  woke  up  and  found 
you  gone  —  it  was  dreadfully  lonely."  She  had  dropped 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

into  the  somewhat  babyish  manner  natural  to  any  affec- 
tionate nature  in  certain  moods  and  circumstances.  It 
seemed  especially  natural  to  her,  on  account  of  her  size 
and  her  exuberant  gayety;  and  she  had  been  assuming  it 
with  him  in  all  its  charming  variations  from  the  beginning 
of  their  engagement  because  it  was  the  manner  that 
pleased  him  best.  "  Next  time,  you'll  wake  me  and  take 
me  along — won't  you  ?  " 

He  patted  her.  "Bless  the  baby!  A  lot  of  work  I'd 
do." 

"  I'm  going  to  help  you.     I  can  soon  learn." 

He  shook  his  head  in  smiling  negative.  "  You're  going 
to  be  the  clearest,  sweetest  wife  a  man  ever  had,"  said  he. 
"  And  always  your  womanly  self." 

"  But,"  she  persisted  with  an  effort,  "  I  can  help.  I'm 
sure  I  can."  There  was  no  trace  of  the  "  baby  "  in  her  ex- 
pression now;  on  the  contrary,  her  face  and  her  voice  were 
those  of  an  extremely  intelligent  young  woman,  serious 
without  the  dreary,  posed  solemnity  that  passes  current 
for  seriousness,  but  is  mere  humorless  asininity.  "  I  really 
know  something  about  chemistry,"  she  went  on.  "  I  liked 
it,  and  took  the  courses  both  at  high  school  and  at  college. 
Last  winter  I  won  a  prize  for  original  work."  His  smile 
made  her  color.  "  I  don't  say  that,"  she  hastened  to  ex- 
plain, "  because  I  think  I'm  a  wonderful  chemist,  but  just 
to  prove  to  you  that  I  do  know  a  little  something — enough 
to  be  able  to  help  in  a  humble  sort  of  way." 

His  expression  was  still  that  of  grown  people  when 
laughing  at  the  antics  of  children,  and  concealing  amuse- 
ment behind  a  thin  pretense  of  grave  admiration.  "  Yes, 
I've  no  doubt  you're  clever  at  it,"  said  he.  "  But  a  refined 
woman  oughtn't  to  try  to  do  the  man  sort  of  thing." 

"  But,  dear,  I'm  not  so  superfine  as  you  seem  to  think — • 
2  13 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

and  not  altogether  foolish."  She  glanced  round  the  labora- 
tory. "  You  don't  know  how  at  home  I  feel  here.  What 
a  wonderful,  beautiful  equipment  you  have!  Everything 
of  the  best — and  so  well  taken  care  of!  Dick,  I  want  to 
be  your — wife.  As  I  watched  you  I  realized  I've  got  to 
fit  myself  for  it.  That  is — of  course,  I  always  knew  I'd 
have  to  do  that — but  now  I  know  just  what  I  must  do." 

"  What  a  serious  child  it  is !  "  he  cried,  pinching  her 
cheek.  It  was  delightful,  this  baby  playing  at  "  grown-up." 

She  laughed  because  she  loved  him  and  loved  laughter; 
but  she  persisted.  "  Being  wife  to  a  man  means  a  great 
deal  more  than  looking  pretty  and  making  love." 

"  That's  very  dear  and  sweet,"  said  he,  in  the  same  pet- 
ting, patronizing  way.  "  I'm  content  with  you  as  you  are. 
I  don't  want  anything  more."  And  he  set  about  putting 
things  away  and  locking  up. 

Quiet  on  her  high  stool,  she  struggled  against  a  feel- 
ing of  resentment,  of  depression.  Her  instinct  was,  as 
always,  to  hide  her  hurt;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  she 
did,  it  would  not  get  well,  would  get  worse.  "  Dick,"  she 
began  at  last. 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  he  absently.  "  Come  along,  dear."  And 
he  lifted  her  down  with  a  kiss. 

She  went  out,  waited  for  him  while  he  locked  the  door. 
"  Dick,"  she  began  again,  as  they  walked  along  the  path, 
"  I  don't  want  to  be  shut  out  of  any  part  of  your  life,  least 
of  all  out  of  the  realest  part.  I  Avant  to  be  truly  your 
wife." 

No  answer.  She  glanced  up  at  him;  obviously  his 
thoughts  were  far  away. 

She  slipped  her  arms  through  his.  "  Tell  me  what 
you're  thinking  about,  dear." 

"  About  that  test  I  was  making." 
U 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Is  the  house  satisfactory?  How  do  you 
like  old  Nanny?  "  As  she  did  not  answer,  he  looked  down 
at  her.  "  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  my  little  sweet- 
heart ?  Such  a  discontented  expression !  " 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all,"  replied  she,  forcing  a  smile 
and  steadying  her  quivering  lip. 

"  I'm  afraid  those  two  days  on  the  train " 

"  Yes,"  she  interrupted  eagerly.  "  And  I  guess  I'm 
hungry,  too.  That's  very  upsetting." 

With  a  little  forcing  she  kept  up  the  semblance  of  good 
spirits  through  breakfast  and  until  he  was  off  to  the  labora- 
tory again.  Then  she  gave  way  to  her  mood — for  it  could 
be  only  a  mood.  With  old  Nanny  as  guide,  she  went 
through  the  house,  through  all  its  spacious  solidly  and 
stiffly  furnished  rooms.  At  every  step  Nanny  had  some- 
thing to  say  of  Miss  Eudosia — how  good  Miss  Eudosia 
had  been,  how  Miss  Eudosia  kept  everything  as  her  mother 
had  it  before  her,  how  particular  Miss  Eudosia  had  been. 
And  when  it  wasn't  Miss  Eudosia  it  was  Colonel  'Kill — 
that  splendid-looking,  terrible-looking  old  Achilles  Vaugh- 
an ;  as  a  child  she  had  decided  that  the  awful  god  the  fam- 
ily worshiped  must  look  like  Achilles  Vaughan.  Nanny 
talked  on  and  on;  Courtney's  spirits  went  down  and  down. 
In  one  respect  the  house  should  have  appealed  to  her — in 
its  perfect  order.  For  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother 
a  passion  for  order — an  instinct  that  would  have  a  neatly 
kept  ribbon  box  almost  as  soon  as  she  could  talk,  and  had 
prompted  her,  long  before  she  could  talk  distinctly,  to  cry 
if  they  tried  to  put  on  her  a  dress  the  least  bit  mussed 
or  a  stocking  with  a  hole  in  it.  But  there  is  the  order  that 
is  of  life,  and  there  is  the  order  that  is  of  death.  This 
Vaughan  order  seemed  to  her  to  be  of  death.  She  felt 

15 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

surrounded,  hemmed  in,  menaced  by  a  throng  of  the 
Vaughan  women  of  past  generations — those  women  of  the 
old-fashioned  kind,  thoughtless,  mindless,  cool,  and  correct 
and  inane — the  kind  of  women  the  Vaughan  men  liked — the 
kind  Richard  liked —  "  No — no.  He  does  not  like  that 
kind!" 

Assisted  by  Nanny  and  Mazie,  she  unpacked  the  trunks 
into  drawers  and  closets.  When  the  last  box  was  empty, 
Jimmie  took  them  down  to  the  cellar.  She  was  established 
— was  at  home.  She  and  Dick  were  to  have  the  same  bed- 
room; he  would  use  the  big  spare  bedroom  directly  across 
the  hall  and  its  bath  for  dressing.  It  was  all  most  con- 
venient, most  comfortable.  But  she  could  not  get  inter- 
ested, could  not  banish  the  feeling  that  she  would  soon  be 
flitting,  that  she  was  stranger,  intruder  here.  And  the  last 
sweet  days  of  the  honeymoon  kept  recurring  in  pictured 
glimpses  of  their  happiness  of  various  kinds,  all  centering 
about  love.  How  tender  he  had  been,  how  absorbed  in 
their  romance — that  wonderful  romance  which  began  ideal- 
ly in  a  chance  meeting  and  love  at  first  sight.  And  now, 
just  as  she  was  getting  over  her  deep-down  shyness  with 
him,  was  feeling  the  beginnings  of  the  courage  to  be 
wholly  her  natural  self,  to  show  him  her  inmost  thoughts, 
to  release  the  tenderness,  the  demonstrativeness  that  had 
been  pent  up  in  her  all  her  life — just  as  the  climax  of  hap- 
piness was  at  hand — here  was  this  shadow,  this  relegat- 
ing her  to  the  chill  isolation  and  self-suppression  and  self- 
concealment  of  a  pedestaled  Vaughan  wife.  "  He  acts  as 
if  a  woman  were  not  like  a  man — as  if  I  had  no  sense 
because  I'm  not  tall,  and  don't  go  about  in  a  frown  and 
spectacles."  And  it  depressed  her  still  further  to  recall 
that  his  attitude  had  been  the  same  throughout  court- 
ship and  honeymoon — treating  her  as  a  baby,  a  pet,  some- 

16 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

thing  to  protect  and  shield,  something  of  which  nothing 
but  lover's  small  talk  was  expected.  She  had  liked  it  then ; 
it  seemed  to  fit  in  with  the  holiday  spirit.  "  I  gave  him 
a  false  impression.  It's  my  fault."  To  pretend  to  be 
infantile  for  purposes  of  a  holiday  of  love-making  is  one 
thing;  to  have  one's  pretense  taken  as  an  actual  and  per- 
manent reality — that  was  vastly  different,  and  wearisome, 
and  humiliating,  and  not  to  be  permitted.  "  But,"  she  re- 
flected, "  it's  altogether  my  fault.  And  the  thing  for  me 
to  do  is  not  to  talk  about  it  to  him,  but  just  quietly 
to  go  to  work  and  make  myself  his  wife — fit  myself  for 
it."  A  wonderful  man  she  thought  him;  and  it  thrilled 
her,  this  high  and  loving  ambition  to  be  worthy  of  him, 
and  not  mere  pendant  and  parasite  as  so  many  wives  were 
content  to  be. 

They  were  to  go  the  scant  half  mile  across  the  lake 
in  the  motor  boat  at  noon  and  lunch  at  her  old  home.  She 
was  ready  a  few  minutes  before  time,  and  started  toward 
the  Smoke  House.  Halfway  she  stopped  and  turned  back. 
No,  she  could  not  interrupt  him  there  again.  His  man- 
ner, unconscious,  more  impressive  than  any  deliberate  look 
or  word,  made  her  feel  that  the  Smoke  House  was  set  in 
an  enchanted  wood  which  she  could  not  penetrate  until — • 
She  smiled  tenderly. 

At  half  past  twelve  he  came  on  the  run.  "  Why  didn't 
you  telephone?"  exclaimed  he.  "We'll  be  scandalously 
late.  I'm  so  sorry.  When  I  get  to  work  down  there  I 
forget  everything.  I  even  forgot  I  was  married." 

She  busied  herself  with  the  buttons  of  her  glove,  and 
the  brim  of  her  hat  hid  her  face.  And  such  a  few  hours 
ago  he  and  she  were  all  in  all  to  each  other! 

"  Do  you  forgive  me?  " 

She  thought  she  was  forgiving  him;  the  hurt  would 
17 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

soon  pass.  So  she  gave  him  a  look  that  passed  muster 
with  his  unobservant  eyes.  "  Don't  worry.  We'll  soon 
be  there." 

They  got  under  way,  he  at  the  motor,  she  watching 
his  back.  On  impulse  she  moved  nearer.  "  Dick/'  she 
said.  "  Don't  turn  round.  I  want  to  say  something  to 
you  that's  very  hard  to  say.  ...  I  feel  I  ought  to  warn 
you.  At  college  the  girls  called  it  one  of  my  worst  traits. 
When  anyone  I  care  for  hurts  me,  I  don't  say  anything — 
I  even  hide  it.  And  they  don't  realize — and  keep  on  hurt- 
ing— until —  Oh,  I've  lost  several  friends  that  way.  For 
• — the  time  comes —  I  don't  let  on,  and  it  gets  to  be  too 
late — and  I  don't  care  any  more." 

"  You  mean  about  my  keeping  you  waiting?  " 

"  No — not  that — not  that  alone.  Not  any  one  thing. 
Not  anything  at  all  yet — but  a  kind  of  a  shadow.  Just — • 
you've  made  me  feel  as  if  I  weren't  to  be  part  of  you — • 
of  your  life.  No,  I  don't  say  it  right.  I've  felt  as  if  I 
were  to  be  part  of  you,  but  that  you  weren't  to  be  part 
of  me." 

He  began  to  laugh,  believing  that  the  proper  way  to 
dispel  a  mood  so  unreal.  But  glancing  at  her  he  saw 
she  was  shrinking  and  literally  quivering  with  pain.  His 
face  sobered.  He  reminded  himself  that  women  could  not 
be  dealt  with  on  a  basis  of  reason  and  sense,  since  they 
had  those  qualities  only  in  rudimentary  form.  As  his  hands 
were  occupied,  he  was  puzzled  how  to  treat  this  his  first 
experience  with  feminine  sweet  unreasonableness  in  her. 
All  he  could  do  toward  pacifying  was  to  say  soothingly,  as 
to  a  sensitive  child:  "I  understand,  sweetheart.  I  must  be 
very — very  careful." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  she  cried,  ready  to  weep  with  vexation 
at  her  complete  failure  to  make  him  understand.  "  I'm 

18 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

not  a  silly,  sensitive  thing,  always  trailing  my  feelings  for 
some  one  to  step  on." 

"  No,  dearest — of  course  not,"  said  he  in  the  same  tone 
as  before.  "  If  there  weren't  so  many  sail  boats  about,  I'd 
show  you  how  penitent  I  am." 

"  But  I  don't  want  you  to  be  penitent." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want?  " 

"  I  want  you  to — I  want  us  to  be  comrades." 

"  What  a  child  it  is !  You  girls  are  brought  up  to  play 
all  the  time.  But  you  can't  expect  a  man  to  be  like  that. 
Of  course  we'll  play  together.  I'd  not  have  wanted  to 
marry  you  if  I  hadn't  needed  you." 

"  But  what  am  /  to  do  when  you  can't  play  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  And  I'm  afraid  you  won't  play  very  often. 
That  is,  I  know  you  won't — and  I'm  glad  you  won't 
— for  I'd  not  care  as  I  do  if  you  were  that  kind.  I 
didn't  realize  until  this  morning.  But  I  do  realize 
now,  and —  Dick,  you  don't  think  of  me  as  just  to 
play  with?  " 

Facing  her  earnestness,  he  would  not  have  dared  con- 
fess the  truth.  "  No,  indeed !  "  said  he.  "  Your  head's 
full  of  notions  to-day.  You're  not  at  all  like  your  sweet 
loving  self." 

She  felt  instantly  altogether  in  the  wrong.  "  It's  the 
strangeness,  I  guess,"  she  said  penitently. 

"  That's  it,  exactly.  But  in  a  few  days  you'll  be  all 
right — and  as  happy  as  a  bird  on  a  bough." 

As  they  were  about  to  land  she  mustered  all  her  cour- 
age, and  with  heightened  color  said :  "  You'll  let  me  come 
down  and  try  to  help,  won't  you?  I'll  promise  not  to  be 
in  the  way — not  for  a  minute.  And  if  I  am,  I'll  never  come 
again.  I  can  at  least  wash  out  test  tubes  and  bring  you 
things  you  need." 

19 


"  Oh,  if  you  really  want  to  come/'  began  he,  with  good- 
humored  tolerance. 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,"  she  interrupted,  eager  and 
radiant. 

"  Not  right  away,"  he  hastened  to  add.  "  Just  at  pres- 
ent I'm  clearing  things  up." 

"  I  understand.     You'll  tell  me  when  the  time  comes." 

"  Yes,  I'll  tell  you." 


II 

IN  late  July,  after  he  had  not  appeared  either  at  din- 
ner or  at  supper  for  four  days,  she  said  to  him,  "  You're 
becoming  a  stranger." 

The  idea  of  reproaching  him  was  not  in  her  mind. 
She  had  been  most  respectful  of  what  she  compelled  her- 
self to  regard  as  his  rights,  had  been  most  careful  not  to 
intrude  or  interrupt  or  in  any  way  annoy.  The  remark 
was  simply  an  embarrassed  attempt  to  open  conversation — 
not  an  easy  matter  with  a  man  so  absorbed  and  silent  as 
he  had  become.  But  he  was  feeling  rather  guilty;  also, 
he  had  not  recovered  from  the  failure  of  an  elaborate  ex- 
periment from  which  he  had  expected  great  things  in  ad- 
Dancing  him  toward  his  ultimate  goal — the  discovery  of  a 
cheap,  universal  substitute  for  all  known  fuels.  "  You 
know,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  in  the  sort  of  work  I'm  trying 
to  do  a  man  can't  control  his  hours." 

"  I  know,"  she  hastened  to  apologize,  feeling  offense  in 
his  tone,  and  instantly  accusing  herself  of  lack  of  tact. 
"  I'm  too  anxious  for  you  to  succeed  to  want  you  ever  to 
think  I'm  expecting  j'ou.  I've  been  busy  myself — and  a 
lot  of  people  have  been  calling." 

This,  though  bravely  said,  somehow  did  not  lessen  his 
sense  of  guilt.  "You're  not  lonely,  are  you?"  he  asked 
gently.  And  he  gave  her  a  searching,  self-reproachful  look. 

"  No,  indeed !  "  laughed  she.  "  I'm  not  one  of  the  kind 
that  get  hysterical  if  they're  left  alone  for  a  few  minutes." 
Her  tone  and  expression  were  calculated  to  reassure,  and 
they  did  reassure. 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Really,  you  ought  to  have  married  a  fellow  who  was 
fond  of  society  and  had  time  for  it.  I  know  how  you  love 
dancing  and  all  that."  This,  with  arms  about  her  and  an 
expression  which  suggested  how  dreary  life  would  have 
been  if  she  had  marz-ied  that  more  suitable  other  fellow. 

"  I  used  to  like  those  things/'  said  she.  "  But  I  found 
they  were  all  simply  makeshifts,  to  pass  the  time  until  you 
came." 

"  We  are  happy — aren't  we  ?  " 

"And  just  think!"  she  cried.  "How  happy  we'll  be 
when  our  real  life  begins." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  vaguely. 

He  looked  confused  and  puzzled,  but  she  was  too  intent 
upon  her  dream  to  note  it.  "  When  do  you  think  you'll 
get  time  to  teach  me  the  ropes  ?  "  asked  she. 

After  a  little  groping  he  understood.  He  had  forgot- 
ten all  about  that  fantastic  plan  of  hers  to  potter  at  the 
laboratory.  And  she  had  been  serious — had  been  waiting 
for  him  to  ask  her  down !  A  glance  at  her  face  warned 
him  that  she  was  far  too  much  in  earnest  to  be  laughed  at. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly  when,"  said  he.  "  Probably 
not  for  some  time.  Don't  bother  about  it." 

"  Of  course,  I'll  not  bother  you  about  it,"  replied  she. 
"  But  naturally  I  can't  help  thinking.  It  won't  be  long?  " 

He  detested  liars  and  lies.  Yet,  looking  on  her  as  a 
sort  of  child — and  it's  no  harm  to  humor  a  child — he  said, 
"  I  hope  not." 

He  blushed  as  he  said  it,  though  his  conscience  was 
assuring  him  there  was  absolutely  nothing  wrong  in  this 
kind  of  playful  deception  with  woman  the  whimsical,  the 
irrational.  "  Certainly  not,"  thought  he.  "  She'll  soon 
forget  all  about  it.  I  don't  see  how  she  happened  to  re- 
member so  long  as  this."  Still,  it  was  not  pleasant  to  tell 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

even  the  whitest  of  white  lies,  facing  eyes  so  earnest  and 
so  trusting  as  were  hers  just  then.  He  changed  the  sub- 
ject— inquired  who  had  been  calling.  She  did  not  return 
to  it.  She  was  content;  his  long  hours  and  his  complete 
absorption  were  proof  of  his  eagerness  to  hasten  the  day 
when  they  should  be  together.  "  Of  course/'  thought  she, 
"  he  likes  what  he's  doing — likes  it  for  itself.  But  the 
reason  is  '  us.'  "  And  some  day  soon  he  would  surprise 
her — and  they  would  begin  to  lead  the  life  of  true  lovers — 
the  life  she  had  dreamed  and  planned  as  a  girl — the  life 
she  had  begun  to  realize  during  courtship  and  'honey- 
moon— the  life  of  which,  even  in  these  days  of  aloneness 
and  waiting,  she  had  occasional  foretastes  when  overpow- 
ing  impulse  for  a  "  lighter  hour  "  brought  him  back  to  her 
for  a  little  while. 

She  had  been  puzzled  when  in  those  hours  he  some- 
times called  her  "  temptress."  The  word  was  tenderly 
spoken,  but  she  felt  an  accent  of  what  was  somehow  sug- 
gestion of  reproach — and  of  rebuke.  Now  she  thought  she 
understood.  He  meant  she  stimulated  in  him  the  same  deep 
longings  that  incessantly  possessed  her;  and  when  those 
longings  were  stimulated,  it  was  hard  for  him  to  keep  his 
mind  on  the  work  he  was  hastening  with  all  his  energy — 
the  work  that  must  be  done  before  their  happiness  could 
begin.  "  I  must  be  careful  not  to  tempt  him,"  thought 
she. 

From  this  she  went  on  to  feel  she  understood  another 
matter  that  had  puzzled  her,  had  at  times  disquieted  her. 
She  had  noticed  that  his  moods  of  caressing  tenderness,  of 
longing  for  the  outward  evidences  of  love  seemed  to  be 
satisfied,  and  to  cease  just  when  her  own  delight  in  them 
was  swelling  to  its  fullness.  Why  should  what  roused  her 
quiet  him?  This  had  been  the  puzzle;  now  she  felt  she 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

had  solved  it:  He  had  greater  self-control  than  she;  he 
would  not  let  his  feelings  master  him,  when  they  would 
certainly  interfere  with  the  work  that  must  be  done  to 
clear  their  way  of  the  last  obstacles  to  perfect  happiness; 
so  he  withdrew  into  himself  and  fought  down  the  long- 
ings for  more  and  ever  more  love  that  were  no  doubt  as 
strong  in  him  as  in  her. 

Thus  she,  in  her  faith  and  her  inexperience,  reasoned  it 
all  out  to  her  satisfaction  and  to  his  glory.  She  had  not 
the  faintest  notion  of  the  abysmal  difference  between  her 
idea  of  love  and  his.  With  her  the  caresses  had  their 
chief  value  as  symbols — as  the  only  means  by  which  the 
love  within  could  convey  news  of  its  existence.  With 
Dick,  the  caresses  were  not  symbols  at  all,  not  means  to 
an  end,  but  the  end  in  themselves.  Of  love  such  as  she 
dreamed  and  expected  he  knew  nothing;  for  it  he  felt  no 
more  need  than  the  usual  busy,  ambitious  man.  His  work, 
his  struggle  to  wrest  from  nature  close-guarded  secrets, 
filled  his  mind  and  his  heart. 

He  soon  assumed  she  had  forgotten  her  fantastic  whim, 
and  forgot  it  himself.  She  often  wished  he  would  talk 
to  her  about  his  work,  would  not  be  quite  so  discouraging 
when  she  timidly  tried  to  talk  with  him  about  it.  And  in 
spite  of  herself  she  could  not  but  be  uneasy  at  times  over 
his  growing  silence,  his  habitual  absentmindedness.  But 
she  accepted  it  all,  as  loving  inexperience  will  accept  any- 
thing and  everything — until  the  shock  of  disillusion  comes. 
So  stupefying  is  habit,  there  were  times  when  her  dream 
became  vague,  when  she  drifted  along,  leading,  as  if  it 
were  to  be  permanent,  the  ordinary  life  of  the  modern 
married  woman  whose  husband  is  a  busy  man.  She  was 
learning  a  great  deal  about  that  life  from  her  young  mar- 
ried friends  of  the  neighborhood  and  of  Wenona.  Many  of 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

them — in  fact,  most  of  them — were  husbanded  much  like 
herself.  But  they  were  restless,  unhappy,  and  for  the  best 
of  reasons — because  they  had  no  aim,  no  future.  She  pitied 
them  profoundly,  felt  more  and  more  grateful  for  her  own 
happier  lot.  For  she — Dick's  wife — had  a  future,  bright 
and  beautiful.  Surely  it  could  not  be  much  longer  before 
he  would  have  the  way  clear  for  the  life  in  common,  the 
life  together! 

She  fell  to  talking,  in  a  less  light  vein  than  she  usually 
permitted  herself  with  him,  about  these  friends  of  hers 
to  him  one  evening  as  they  walked  up  and  down  the 
veranda  after  supper.  She  described  with  some  humor, 
but  an  underlying  seriousness,  their  lives — their  amusing, 
but  also  pitiful,  efforts  to  kill  time — their  steady  decline 
toward  inanity.  "  I  don't  see  what  they  married  for,"  said 
she.  "  They  really  care  nothing  about  their  husbands — or 
their  husbands  about  them.  The  men  seem  to  be  contented. 
But  the  women  aren't,  though  they  pretend  to  be — pretend 
to  their  husbands!  Isn't  it  all  sad  and  horrible?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  he  replied.  He  had  been  only  half 
listening,  but  had  caught  the  drift  of  what  she  was  saying. 
'  It's  hard  to  believe  decent  women  can  be  like  that." 

"And  the  men — they're  worse,"  said  she;  "  for  they're 
satisfied." 

"Why  shouldn't  they  be?"  said  Dick.  "They  don't 
know  what  kind  of  wives  they've  got." 

"  I — I  don't  think  you  quite  understood  me." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  said  the  wives  were  dissatisfied.  They've 
got  good  homes  and  contented  husbands.  What  right  have 
they  to  be  dissatisfied  ?  What  more  do  they  want  ?  " 

"  What  we've  got,"  said  she  tenderly.     "  Love." 

"  But  they've  got  love.  Didn't  you  say  their  husbands 
were  contented?  When  a  man's  contented  it  means  that 

25 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

he  loves  his  wife.  And  a  good  woman  always  loves  her 
husband." 

She  laughed.  He  often  amused  her  with  his  funny 
old-style  notions  about  women.  "  You  can't  understand 
people  who  live  and  feel  as  they  do,  dear,"  said  she.  "  Of 
course,  you  and  I  seem  to  be  living  much  like  them  just 
now.  But  you  know  we'd  never  be  contented  if  we  had  to 
go  on  and  on  this  way." 

With  not  a  recollection  of  the  "  whim,"  he  stopped 
short  in  astonishment.  "  What  way  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Aren't 
we  happy?  " 

She  smiled  radiantly  up  at  him  in  the  clear,  gentle 
evening  light.  "  But  not  so  happy  as  we  shall  be,  when 
you  get  things  straightened  out  and  take  me  into  part- 
nership." 

"  Partnership  ?  "  he  demanded  blankly.  "  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  I  call  it  partnership.  I  suppose  you'd  call  it  work- 
ing for  you.  I  suppose  I  shall  be  pretty  poor  at  first. 
But  I'll  surprise  you  before  I've  been  down  there  many 
weeks.  I've  been  brushing  up  my  chemistry,  as  well  as  I 
could,  with  only  books." 

It  came  to  him  what  she  was  talking  about — and  it 
overwhelmed  him  with  confusion.  "  Yes — certainly.  I — 
I  supposed  you'd  forgotten." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  dismay.  "  Forgotten !  "  Then 
she  brightened.  "  Oh,  you're  teasing  me." 

He  began  to  be  irritated.  "  You  mustn't  fret  me  about 
that,"  he  said. 

"  I  didn't  even  mean  to  speak  of  it,"  she  protested,  her 
supersensitive  dread  of  intrusion  alert.  "  I  know  j'ou're 
doing  the  best  you  can.  But  I  couldn't  help  dreaming  of 
the  time  when  I'll  have  you  back  again.  .  .  .  Now,  don't 

26 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

look  so  distressed !  Meanwhile,  we'll  have  what  we  can. 
And  that's  something — isn't  it?  " 

What  queer,  irrational  creatures  women  werej  To  per- 
sist in  a  foolish,  fanciful  notion  such  as  this !  Why  couldn't 
she  play  at  keeping  house  and  enjoy  herself  as  it  was  in- 
tended women  should?  A  woman's  trying  to  do  anything 
serious,  a  woman's  thinking — it  was  like  a  parrot's  talk- 
ing— an  imitation,  and  not  a  good  one.  But  the  "  whim  " 
and  his  "  harmless  deception  "  became  the  same  sort  of 
irritation  in  his  conscience  that  a  grain  of  dust  is  on  the 
eyeball.  He  was  forced  to  debate  whether  he  should  not 
make  a  slight  concession.  After  all,  where  would  be  the 
harm  in  letting  her  come  to  the  laboratory?  She'd  soon 
get  enough.  Yes,  that  would  be  the  wise  course.  Humor 
a  woman  or  a  child  in  an  innocent  folly,  and  you  effect  a 
cure.  Yes — if  she  brought  the  matter  up  again,  and  no 
other  way  out  suggested,  he  would  let  her  come.  It  amused 
him  to  think  of  her,  delicate  as  a  flower,  made  for  the  hot- 
house, for  protection  and  guidance  and  the  most  careful 
sheltering,  trying  to  adapt  herself  to  serious  work  call- 
ing for  thought  and  concentration.  "  But  she'd  be  a  nuis- 
ance after  a  day  or  so.  A  man's  sense  of  humor — even  his 
love — soon  wears  thin  when  his  work's  interfered  with." 
Still,  she'd  be  glad  enough  to  quit,  probably  after  a  sin- 
gle morning  of  the  kind  of  thing  he'd  give  her  to  discour- 
age her.  "  Really,  all  a  woman  wants  is  the  feeling  she's 
having  her  own  way." 

This  decision  laid  the  ghost.  As  slie  said  no  more,  the 
whole  thing  passed  to  the  dark  recesses  of  his  memory. 
One  evening  in  late  September,  when  he  was  taking  a 
walk  alone  on  the  veranda,  she  came  out  and  joined  him. 
After  a  few  silent  turns  she  said,  "  Let's  sit  on  the  steps." 
She  made  him  sit  a  step  lower  than  she,  which  brought 

27 


their  eyes  upon  a  level.  The  moon  was  shining  full  upon 
them.  The  expression  of  her  face,  as  she  looked  intently 
at  him,  was  such  that  he  instinctively  said,  "  What  is  it, 
dear?  "  and  reached  for  her  hand. 

He  had  given  the  subject  of  children — the  possibilities, 
probabilities — about  as  little  thought  as  a  young  married 
man  well  could.  There  are  some  women  who  instantly  and 
always  suggest  to  men  the  idea  motherhood;  there  are 
others,  and  Courtney  was  of  them,  in  connection  with  whom 
the  idea  baby  seems  remote,  even  incongruous.  But  as  she 
continued  to  look  steadily  at  him,  without  speaking,  his 
mind  began  to  grope  about,  and  somehow  soon  laid  hold 
of  this  idea.  His  expression  must  have  told  her  that  he 
understood,  for  she  nodded  slowly. 

"  Do  you  mean — "  he  began  in  an  awe-stricken  voice, 
but  did  not  finish. 

"  Yes.  I've  suspected  for  some  time.  To-day  the  doc- 
tor told  me  it  was  so." 

Her  hand  nestled  more  closely  into  his,  and  he  held  it 
more  tightly.  A  great  awe  filled  him.  It  seemed  very  still 
and  vast,  this  moonlight  night.  He  gazed  out  over  the 
lake.  He  could  not  speak.  She  continued  to  look  at  him. 
Presently  she  began  in  a  low,  quiet  voice,  full  of  the  mel- 
ody of  those  soft,  deep  notes  that  were  so  strange  and 
thrilling,  coming  from  such  slim,  delicate  smallness  of  body 
and  of  face:  "  I  can't  remember  the  time  when  I  wasn't 
longing  for  a  baby.  When  I  was  still  a  baby  myself  I  used 
to  ask  the  most  embarrassing  questions — and  they  couldn't 
stop  me —  When  could  I  have  a  baby?  How  soon?  How 
many?  And  when  I  finally  learned  that  I  mustn't  talk 
about  it,  I  only  thought  the  more.  I  never  rested  till  I 
found  out  all  about  it.  I  came  very  near  marrying  the  first 

man  that  asked  me  because " 

28 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  strong  disapproval. 

She  smiled  tenderly.  "  I  know  you  hate  for  me  to  be 
frank  and  natural,"  she  said  with  the  gentlest  raillery. 
"  But,  please,  let  me — just  this  once.  I  must  tell  you  ex- 
actly what's  in  my  head — my  foolish,  feminine  head,  as 
your  grandfather  would  have  said." 

"  Go  on,  dear.  But  you  couldn't  convince  me  you 
weren't  always  innocent  and  pure  minded." 

"  You — a  chemist — a  scientist,  talking  about  knowledge 
being  wicked!  But  I'll  not  discuss  those  things  with  you. 
I  never  have  and  I  never  shall."  She  drew  closer  to  him, 
put  one  arm  round  his  neck.  "  Now  do  listen,  dear,"  she 
went  on.  "  Then — you  came  into  my  life.  It's  very 
queer — I  don't  understand  why — at  least  not  clearly — but 
from  the  moment  I  loved  you  I  never  thought  of  baby 
again — except  to  think  I  didn't  want  one." 

"  My  dear !  "  he  exclaimed.  He  drew  away  to  look  at 
her.  "  Courtney !  That's  very  unnatural.  You're  quite 
mistaken." 

As  she  did  not  know  men,  it  seemed  to  her  a  unique 
and  profoundly  mysterious  case,  this  of  him  so  broad- 
minded,  scandalously  broadminded  most  Wenona  people 
thought,  yet  in  the  one  direction  a  puritan  of  puritans. 
With  a  wisdom  deeper  than  she  realized  she  said  smilingly: 
"  Dear — dear  Dick !  I  guess  the  reason  you  men  think 
women  irrational  is  because  you're  irrational  on  the  sub- 
ject of  women  yourselves.  To  a  crazy  person  the  whole 
world  seems  crazy." 

He  did  not  respond  to  her  pleasantry.  She  sighed, 
drew  his  arm  round  her,  went  on :  "  Well — anyhow,  it's 
true.  And,  do  you  know,  I  think  that  whenever  a  woman 
really  loves  a  man,  cares  for  just  him,  she  doesn't  want 
a  baby." 

3  29 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  You're  quite  mistaken,"  he  assured  her  gravely. 
"  It's  natural  for  a  woman  to  want  children.  You  want 
them." 

"Do  you?" 

"I?     I've  never  given  it  much  thought." 

"  I  did  hope  you'd  say  no,"  said  she,  half  in  j  est 
"  Now  honestly,  doesn't  it  seem  reasonable  that  when  two 
people  love  each  other  they  shouldn't  want  any — any  in- 
truder? " 

He  looked  at  her  with  more  than  a  trace  of  severity  in 
his  expression.  "  Where  did  you  get  these  unnatural 
ideas?  I  don't  like  you  to  say  such  things  even  in  joke. 
They're  most  unwomanly." 

She  felt  rebuked  and  showed  it,  but  persisted,  "  You 
must  admit  it'll  interfere." 

"  Interfere  with  what  ?  " 

"  With  the  life  we've  been  looking  forward  to — with 
my  helping  you." 

"  Oh — yes — "  he  stammered.  Again  that  exasperating 
ghost!  What  possessed  her  to  persist  in  such  nonsense? 

"  You  know  it  would  interfere — would  put  off  our  hap- 
piness for  a  year  or  two.  A  year  or  two !  Oh,  Dick !  " 

When  she  had  the  child,  thought  he,  the  ghost  would 
be  laid  forever.  "  Well — we'll  do  the  best  we  can,"  he 
said.  His  tone  and  manner  of  regret  were  as  sincere  as 
ever  mother  used  in  assuring  her  child  of  the  reality  of 
Santa  Claus.  And  Courtney  believed  and  was  reconciled. 

"  I  do  want  the  baby,"  she  now  admitted.  "  But  I  want 
you — love — more,  oh,  so  much  more.  I'm  glad  your  life 
work  is  something  I  naturally  care  about.  Still,  I  sup- 
pose, when  a  woman  loves  a  man,  she  cares  about  whatever 
he  is  and  does,  and  fits  herself  to  be  part  of  it." 

He  smiled  with  patronizing  tenderness,  as  he  often 
30 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

did,  always  evidently  quite  sure  she'd  not  understand.  If 
we  could  but  realize  it,  how  our  mismeasurements  of  others 
would  enable  us  to  study  as  in  a  mirror  our  own  limitations ! 
"  Wait  till  you  have  the  baby,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  think  that  with  me  love  for  a  baby  could 
ever  take  the  place  of  need  for  love — grown-up  love? 
You're  always  making  me  feel  as  if  you  didn't  know  me  at 
all,  Dick." 

He  laughed  and  kissed  her.  "  You  don't  know  yourself. 
Wait  till  you  have  a  baby,  and  you'll  be  content  to  be  just  a 
woman." 

"  But  I'm  content  to  be  that  now." 

"  Well — let's  not  argue." 


Ill 

EXCEPT  courtship  and  honeymoon  never  had  she  been 
so  happy  as  in  the  last  two  months  before  the  baby  came. 
"  Every-one  is  spoiling  me,"  she  said,  dazzled  by  the  reve- 
lations of  thoughtfulness  and  affection.  Her  friends,  her 
acquaintances,  showered  attentions  upon  her.  Even  her 
mother,  austere  and  cold,  unbent.  Her  father,  the  shy,  the 
silent,  betrayed  where  she  had  got  her  silent,  shy,  intense 
longing  for  love.  The  two  sour  old-maid  sisters  were  all 
tenderness  and  chaste  excitement.  As  for  Dick,  he  actually 
neglected  his  career.  Again  and  again  he  would  stop  in 
the  midst  of  an  experiment  to  dash  up  to  the  house  and 
inquire  what  he  could  do  for  her — this  when  there  was  a 
private  telephone  at  his  elbow. 

She  was  intelligent  about  diet  and  exercise;  so  she  suf- 
fered hardly  at  all.  As  for  the  baby,  he  came  into  the 
world  positively  shrieking  with  health.  Finally,  she  had 
none  of  the  petty  vanity  that  leads  many  a  first-time  mother 
into  fancying  and  acting  as  if  maternity  were  a  unique 
achievement,  original  with  herself.  Thus  the  agitation 
quickly  died  away,  and  life  resumed  its  former  course, 
except  that  she  had  a  baby  to  take  care  of.  At  first  it  was 
great  fun.  Dick  helped  her,  forgot  his  chemistry,  seemed 
in  the  way  to  become  a  father  of  unprecedented  devotion. 
But  this  did  not  last  long.  He  loved  playthings  and 
played  with  them;  but  the  call  of  his  career  was  the  strong 
force  in  his  life,  and  he  went  back  to  the  laboratory.  She 
might  have  given  the  baby  over  to  a  nurse,  as  all  the  other 
women  were  doing.  But  it  seemed  to  her  that,  as  she  was 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

responsible  for  the  coming  of  this  frisky  helplessness,  she 
could  not  do  less  than  guard  him  until  he  was  able  to  look 
out  for  himself.  "  When  he  can  talk  and  tell  me  exactly 
how's  he  treated  when  I'm  not  around,"  said  she,  "  why, 
perhaps  I'll  trust  him  to  a  nurse — if  he  needs  one.  But 
until  then  I'll  be  nurse  myself." 

Many  and  many  a  time  in  the  next  eighteen  months  she 
wished  she  had  not  committed  herself  openly  and  posi- 
tively. She  loved  her  baby  as  much  as  any  mother  could 
— and  a  good-humored  lovable  baby  he  was,  fat  and  hand- 
some, and  showing  signs  of  being  well  bred  while  still  a 
speechless  animal.  But,  except  in  romances  and  make- 
believe  life,  the  deepest  love  wearies  of  sacrifices,  though  it 
gladly  makes  them.  This  baby — Benedict  they  named  him, 
but  he  changed  it  to  Winchie  as  soon  as  he  could — this 
baby  made  a  slave  of  her.  She  understood  why  so  many 
women  retrograde  after  the  birth  of  the  first  child.  The 
temptation  to  go  to  seed  is  powerful  enough  in  the  most 
favorable  circumstances,  once  a  woman  has  caught  a  hus- 
band and  secured  a  living  for  life.  A  baby,  she  soon  saw, 
made  that  temptation  tenfold  stronger.  She  wondered 
what  it  was  in  her  that  compelled  her  to  fight  unyieldingly 
against  being  demoralized. 

Dick  was  deep  in  a  series  of  experiments  that  forbade 
him  a  thought  for  anything  else.  He  did  occasionally 
spend  a  few  moments  in  mechanical  dalliance  with  his  two 
playthings ;  but  that  interrupted  his  thoughts  little  if  at  all. 
By  the  slow,  unnoted  day-to-day  action  that  plays  the  only 
really  important  part  in  human  intimacies  of  all  kinds,  she 
had  grown  too  shy  and  strange  with  him  to  ask  his  help 
or  even  to  think  of  expecting  it.  She  did  not  judge  him — 
at  least,  not  consciously.  She  assumed  he  was  doing  the 
best  he  could,  the  best  anyone  could,  the  best  'possible. 

33 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

To  have  complained,  even  in  thought,  would  have  seemed 
to  her  as  futile  as  railing  against  any  fundamental  of  life — 
against  being  unable  to  fly  instead  of  walk.  She  made 
occupation  for  herself,  as  will  presently  appear.  But,  after 
all,  it  was  Winchie  who  saved  her.  But  for  him  she,  with 
no  taste  for  "  chasing  about,"  would  have  withdrawn  within 
herself,  would  have  become  silent,  cold,  ever  more  and 
more  like  her  mother,  with  barren  cynicism  in  place  of 
Mrs.  Benedict's  equally  barren  religiosity.  Winchie's 
spirits  of  overflowing  health,  his  newcomer's  delight  in 
life  were  infectious  and  stimulating.  In  keeping  him  in 
perfect  health — outdoors,  winter  and  summer,  and  always 
active,  she  made  her  own  health  so  perfect  that  the  cheer- 
ful and  hopeful  side  of  things  was  rarely  so  much  as 
obscured. 

One  evening  after  supper  Richard,  moved  by  the  inter- 
mittent impulse  to  amuse  himself,  sought  her  in  her  sit- 
ting room,  where  she  was  reading.  She  always  sat  there 
in  the  evenings  because  she  could  hear  Winchie  if  he  be- 
came restless.  He  never  did,  but  that  fact  no  more  freed 
her  to  go  off  duty  than  the  absence  of  burglars  the  police- 
man. Dick  gave  her  the  kind  of  kiss  that  was  always  his 
signal  for  a  "  lighter  hour."  She  merely  glanced  up,  gave 
him  the  smile  that  is  a  matrimonial  convention  like  "  my 
dear,"  and  went  on  with  her  book.  Theretofore,  whenever 
he  had  shown  the  least  desire  to  take  an  hour  off  from  that 
career  of  his,  she  had  instantly  responded.  She  assumed 
this  readiness  meant  love;  in  fact,  love  had  no  part  in  it. 
She  responded  for  two  reasons,  both  unsuspected  by  her: 
because  she  did  not  know  him  well  enough  to  have  moods 
with  him  and  to  show  them,  and  because  refusal  would  have 
been  admission  of  the  truth  of  indifference  to  him  which 
she  had  not  yet  discovered.  That  evening,  for  the  first 

34 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

time,  she  did  not  respond.  It  was  unconscious  on  her  part, 
unnoted  by  him;  yet  it  was  the  most  significant  event  in 
their  married  life  since  the  wedding  ceremony  two  years 
and  a  half  before. 

He  stood  behind  her  and  began  gliding  his  fingers  over 
the  soft  down  at  the  nape  of  her  neck.  It  has  become 
second  nature  to  women  to  repress  their  active  emotions,  no 
matter  how  strong,  and  to  wait  upon  the  man — an  evidence 
of  inferior  status  that  is  crudely  but  sufficiently  disguised 
as  "  womanly  delicacy  and  reserve."  In  response  to  the 
signal  of  those  caressing  fingers  Courtney  mechanically  put 
up  her  hand  and  patted  his.  Her  gesture  was  genuinely 
affectionate — but  there  had  been  a  time  when  it  would  not 
have  been  mechanical.  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes  from  the 
page. 

"  Is  that  a  good  love  story  ?  "  asked  he.  "  As  good  as 
ours?" 

A  tender  little  smile  of  half  absent  appreciation  played 
round  her  lips.  But — her  glance  remained  upon  her  read- 
ing. "  It  isn't  a  novel,"  replied  she.  "  It's  a  treatise." 

"A  treatise?"  mocked  he.  "Gracious  me!  What  a 
wise  fairy  it  is !  Put  it  away,  and  let's  go  on  the  balcony. 
There'll  not  be  many  more  sit-out  nights." 

He  moved  to  pick  her  up  in  his  arms.  But  she  smil- 
ingly pushed  him  away.  "  I  want  to  finish  this  chapter," 
said  she. 

"  All  right.     I'll  go  out  and  smoke.     Don't  be  long." 

And  he  sauntered  through  the  window  door.  After 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  joined  him  in  the  ham- 
mock. Matrimony  is  a  curious  fabric  of  set  phrases,  set 
thoughts,  and  set  actions.  It  was  their  habit,  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, for  her  to  snuggle  up  to  him  and  for  him  to 
put  his  arm  round  her.  The  habit  was  on  this  occasion 

35 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART    

observed.  It  was  her  habit  to  assume  that  she  was  happy 
— and  she  now  so  assumed.  He  began  the  conversation. 
"  I've  been  watching  you  as  I  sat  here,"  said  he  lazily. 
"  What  are  all  those  books  on  the  table  ?  They  look  serious 
— businesslike." 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  anything  serious.  You  always 
laugh  at  me  or  get  absent-minded." 

"  But  you  seemed  so  absorbed.     What  was  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  doing  a  little  reading  and  thinking  and 
studying  for  the  past  year.  You  see,  when  a  woman  takes 
care  of  a  baby,  she's  got  to  look  out  or  she'll  become  one 
herself." 

"  But  you  are  a  baby."  And  there  followed  the  usual 
caresses. 

"  Not  a  real  baby,"  said  she.  "  We  both  act  like 
children  at  times — very  little  children.  But  we'd  not 
care  for  each  other  as  we  do  if  either  of  us  were  real- 
ly infantile.  It  takes  a  grown  person  to  play  baby  at- 
tractively." 

"  Baby,"  he  insisted  fondly.  He  was  smiling  with  the 
masculinely  patronizing  tolerance  to  which  she  had  grown 
so  used  that  she  never  noted  it.  He  appreciated  that  she 
was  clever — with  the  woman  sort  of  cleverness — bright, 
witty,  sometimes  saying  remarkably  keen  things.  But, 
being  a  man,  he  knew  that  man  mind  and  woman  mind  are 
entirely  different — never  so  different  as  when  woman  mind 
seems  to  be  like  man  mind — just  as  purely  instinctive  ac- 
tions of  animals  seem  to  display  profound  reasoning  power. 
"  And  what  was  the  baby  wrinkling  its  brow  over,  in  there  ? 
The  care  and  feeding  of  infants  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  no,"  replied  she  with  perfect  good  humor. 
"  I  went  into  that  before  Winchie  came.  You  think  it's 
all  a  joke — my  reading  and  studying.  But  the  real  joke 

36 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

is  your  thinking  so.  You  must  remember  I  can't  afford  to 
let  myself  go,  as  you  do." 

He  had  been  chiefly  absorbed  in  caresses  and  caressing 
thoughts.  At  this  last  remark  he  laughed.  "  Now,  what 
does  that  mean  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  You've  given  up  everything  for  chemistry.  Haven't 
you  noticed  that  we  can  hardly  talk  to  each  other — that 
you  can  hardly  talk  to  anybody?  " 

"  I  never  did  have  much  talent  for  small  talk." 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  small  talk.  You  care  only  for 
chemistry,  know  only  chemistry.  You  never  did  know  or 
care  much  about  literature  or  art  or  music  or  any  of  the 
worth-while  things  except  just  your  own  specialty.  And 
you  can  afford  to  be  that  way.  It's  your  career,  and  also 
you're  not  a  woman  and  a  mother." 

He  had  stopped  caressing  her.  "  I  confess  I  don't 
understand,"  said  he  stiffly. 

"  A  man  can  afford  to  be  narrow— not  to  know  life  or 
the  world.  But  a  mother — if  she's  the  right  sort — has  to 
try  to  know  everything.  She's  got  to  bring  up  children — 
and  how  can  she  hope  to  teach  and  train  successfully  if  she 
doesn't  know?  " 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  he,  a  certain  curtness  in 
his  voice.  "  A  woman  must  be  pure,  innocent,  womanly — 
as  you  are.  Nature  didn't  make  her  to  be  learned  or  wise — 
to  think.  She  has  her  instincts  to  keep  her  straight,  and  a 
father  or  a  husband " 

"Dick — Dick!"  she  cried,  patting  him  on  the  cheek. 
"  What  an  old  fogey  it  is  !  You  talk  like — like  an  ordinary 
man.  How  bored  you'd  be  if  you  had  that  kind  of  wife — • 
one  who  couldn't  be  comrade  and  companion,  and  didn't 
want  to  be — one  who  was  merely  a  mistress." 

Vaughan  was  sitting  bolt  upright  now.  "  Those  books 
37 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

in  there —  Courtney,  you're  not  reading  impure,  upset- 
ting books  ?  " 

She  laughed  delightedly. 

"  What  are  those  books  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  They're — now,  Dickey  dear,  please  don't  be  shocked 
— they're  on  landscape  gardening  and  interior  decoration." 
She  looked  up  at  him  mischievously  in  the  starlight.  "  Are 
they  womanly  enough  to  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  he  heartily.  "  But  I  might  have 
known  you'd  not  read  anything  a  good  woman  oughtn't.  I 
love  you  as  you  are — and  I'd  hate  to  see  you  changed,  my 
spotless  little  angel." 

She  submitted  to  his  caresses.  And  presently,  in  that 
brain  which  he  would  have  thought  it  absurd  to  look  into 
except  for  the  very  lightest  kind  of  amusement,  there  formed 
the  first  really  disloyal  thought  she  had  ever  permitted  to  be 
born.  The  thought  was :  "  Dick  certainly  does  take  himself 
terribly  seriously.  If  it  weren't  Dick,  I'd  say  he  was  get- 
ting to  be  a  prig."  She  was  instantly  shocked  at  herself,  as 
one  always  is  at  the  first  impulse  to  doubt  the  idol  one  has 
set  up  for  blind  worship.  She  felt  there  was  but  one  way 
to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  such  perilous  blasphemy.  Af- 
ter a  brief  silence  she  said  in  a  constrained  voice:  "Dick, 
I  was  not  a  stupid,  incurious  fool  as  a  girl,  and  I  went  to 
college,  and  I'm  a  wife  and  a  mother.  If  by  innocence 
you  mean  ignorance,  I'm  anything  but  innocent." 

She  saw  that  he  was  highly  amused. 

"  Women,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "  always  tell  each 
other  that  before  men  it's  wise  to  pretend  to  be  ignorant 
and  too  refined  to  know  life,  and  to  be  shocked  at  every- 
thing. They  say  it  pleases  men.  But  I'm  sure  you're  not 
that  sort  of  man.  Anyhow,  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite." 

"  That's  right,  dear,"  said  he,  nodding  approvingly,  the 
38 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

amused  smile  lingering.  "  Go  on  with  your  interior  deco- 
ration and  landscape  gardening.  You  can't  learn  too 
much  about  them."  He  was  leaning  back  again,  secure, 
comfortable,  happy,  enjoying  the  sensation  of  caressing 
her. 

She  gave  it  up,  as  she  always  did  when  she  found  her- 
self being  ruffled  by  that  strange  antiquated  prejudice  of 
his.  It  would  yield  in  time.  Besides,  what  did  it  really 
matter? — since  they  loved  each,  other,  and  would  be  happy 
once  their  real  life  got  under  way.  "  I'd  have  taken  up 
chemistry,"  she  continued,  "  but  one  can't  go  far  alone  in 
that,  with  only  books.  And  you  wouldn't  help  me.  I'm 
afraid  you'll  find  me  very  rusty  when  I  come  down  to  the 
laboratory  next  spring." 

His  lips  were  open  to  inquire  what  she  meant,  when  he 
was  unpleasantly  spared  the  necessity.  Out  of  a  dark 
recess  of  memory  sprang  the  ghost — the  "  whim."  He  was 
astounded,  irritated,  alarmed.  He  had  supposed  he  had 
heard  the  last  of  that  silly  notion  about  helping  him;  she 
hadn't  spoken  of  it  in  nearly  two  years.  Now — here  it 
was  again ! 

"  Dick,"  she  was  saying,  her  hand  clasping  his,  "  I've 
appreciated  your  not  speaking  of  it,  or  even  talking  about 
what  you  were  doing.  If  you  had,  the  delay 'd  have  been 
much  harder  to  bear.  For,  as  long  as  Winchie  needs  me, 
I  simply  can't  come." 

"  I  understand,  dear,"  said  he,  much  relieved. 

"  It's  a  dreadfully  long  delay,  isn't  it?  "  she  went  on, 
dreamily  gazing  up  into  the  great  quiet  sky.  "  The  more 
I  see  of  married  people,  and  the  more  I  think  about  married 
life,  the  clearer  I  see  that  two  must  have  a  common  inter- 
est, a  common  career,  or  they  drift  apart,  and  usually  the 
woman  sinks  down  and  down  into  a  gadabout  or  a  fat 

39 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

frump  or  a  professional  minder  of  other  people's  business — 
a  gossip  or  a  charity  worker." 

If  she  had  been  looking,  even  in  that  faint  light  she 
could  have  seen  his  expression  of  gathering  displeasure. 

"  Or  else,"  she  went  on,  "  she  seeks  love  elsewhere. 
Isn't  it  strange,  Dick,  how  in  unhappy  marriages  the 
so-called  good  women  are  the  bad  ones,  and  the  so-called 
bad  ones  good?  I  mean,  when  a  weak  woman  finds  herself 
married  wrong  she  accepts  it  and  gently  rots,  and  people 
say  she's  a  good  soul,  when  she's  really  degrading  her- 
self and  rotting  everybody  round  her.  While  a  strong 
woman — one  that's  worth  while — refuses  to  be  crushed,  and 
people  call  her  bad.  But  then  I've  begun  to  think  life's 
like  one  of  those  exhibitions  where  some  cut-up  slips 
round  and  changes  the  labels  so  that  everything's  named 
wrong." 

She  was  talking  along  lightly,  talking  what  seemed  to 
her  the  plainest  common  sense,  and  was  all  unconscious  that 
she  had  brought  him  and  herself  where  both  were  almost 
peering  into  the  abyss  between  them.  He  was  sitting  up, 
was  getting  ready  to  deliver  himself.  Her  next  remark 
checked  him.  "  Thank  Heaven,  Dick,  you  and  I  are  going 
to  have  the  interest  that  makes  two  lives  one — makes  it 
impossible  to  grow  apart.  It  seems  to  me  I  can't  wait  for 
Winchie  to  release  me  so  that  I  may  come  and  work  with 
you.  Aren't  you  glad  I  really,  naturally,  like  chemistry, 
and  already  know  something  about  it?  " 

He  winced,  and  instead  of  speaking,  put  his  cigar  be- 
tween his  opened  lips. 

She  leaned  her  head  affectionately  against  his  arm.  "  I 
feel  close  to  you  to-night — feel  that  we're  in  perfect  sym- 
pathy. Sometimes — I — I  don't  feel  quite  that  way.  Of 
course  I  know  it's  all  right,  but  I  .get — afraid.  It's  such 

40 


a  long,  long  delay — and  your  work  absorbs  you — and  we 
almost  never  talk  as  we're  talking  to-night.  There  have 
been  times  when — I've  almost — been  afraid  we  were  drift- 
ing apart." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  he  cried  sharply.  "  How  could 
that  be?  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  you're  a  good 
v/oman?  You  talk  foolishly  at  times — things  you've  picked 
up  from  loose  people.  But  you  are  a  lady  and  a  good 
woman." 

She  saw  he  was  for  some  unknown  reason  irritated. 
She  swiftly  changed  the  subject.  "  Anyhow,  dearest,  we 
shan't  be  in  danger  much  longer.  We're  nearly  to  the  end 
of  the  life  we've  been  leading  ever  since  we  got  back  from 
our  wedding  trip.  Just  think — ever  since  then !  How  time 
has  gone !  " 

He  stirred  uncomfortably,  ventured:  "We've  been 
happy,  and,  even  if  things  were  to  go  on  just  as  they  are, 
we'd  continue  to  be  happy." 

"  Of  course,  you've  had  your  work  and  I've  had  Win- 
chie,  and  once  in  a  while  we  have  each  other.  But  most 
of  the  happiness  has  been  in  looking  forward,  hasn't  it?  " 

She  assumed  that  his  silence  was  assent. 

"  But  don't  think,  dear,"  she  said,  "  that  I've  been  con- 
tent just  to  wait.  As  soon  as  I  saw  it  was  going  to  be  a 
long  time  before  I  could  come  to  the  laboratory " 

He  rose  abruptly,  under  the  pretense  of  lighting  a  fresh 
cigar. 

"  — I  made  another  occupation  for  myself.  It'll  be 
next  spring  at  the  earliest  before  I  can  come  to  you.  And 
even  then  I'll  be  able  to  spend  only  part  of  the  day. 
Winchie'll  have  to  be  looked  after  when  he's  not  at  the 
kindergarten.  Now  that  he's  talking  and  understanding, 
it's  more  necessary  than  ever  to  watch  over  him.  I've  had 

41 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

to  watch  only  his  body.  Now  it's  both  his  body  and  his 
mind;  for,  if  any  harm  came  to  either,  it'd  be  our  fault, 
wouldn't  it?  " 

"  There's  no  doubt  of  that/'  said  Dick  with  strong  em- 
phasis, as  he  seated  himself  in  a  chair  opposite  her.  He 
thought  this  remark  of  hers  opened  the  way  out  of  his  per- 
plexity. "  I  don't  see  how  you  can  come  to  the  laboratory 
at  all." 

"  Oh,  yes.  It's  not  so  bad  as  that.  If  it  were,  I  don't 
know  what  I'd  do.  It'd  be  choice  between  losing  you  and 
neglecting  him." 

"  Trash !  "  exclaimed  Dick  impatiently.  There  seemed 
something  essentially  immoral  in  her  whole  attitude,  an 
odor  of  immorality  exuding  from  everything  she  said.  It 
exasperated  him  that  he  could  not  locate  it  and  use  it  as 
the  text  for  the  lecture  he  felt  she  greatly  needed.  "  Your 
good  sense  must  tell  you  there's  not  the  slightest  danger  of 
your  losing  me." 

She  laughed  with  raillery.  "  Oh,  I  know  you're  far  too 
busy  with  your  chemistry  to  wander.  But  that  isn't  what 
I  meant.  You  understand."  Her  eyes  shone  upon  him. 
"  Sometimes — when  we're  holding  each  other  tight  and 
your  lips  are  on  mine — I  can  scarcely  keep  from  crying. 
It  seems  to  me  we're  like  two  held  apart  and  trying  to  be 
one — and  trying  in  vain.  It's  as  if  we  touched  only  at  the 
surface,  and  our  bodies  were  keeping  us  from  each  other. 
But  all  that  will  soon  end  now,  and  we'll  be  really  one. 
Closer  and  closer,  day  by  day — 

She  sat  on  his  lap,  and  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  He 
felt  ashamed  somehow,  and  in  awe  of  this  emotion  that  was 
beyond  him.  "  How  wonderful  a  pure  woman  is !  "  he 
thought. 

After  a  pause  she  sat  up,  went  back  to  the  hammock, 
42 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

seated  herself,  leaning  toward  him.  "  But  I  started  to 
tell  you  my  plans." 

"  What  plans  ?  "  he  asked,  in  high  good  humor  with  her 
again  and  overflowing  with  "  lighter-hour "  tenderness. 
"  Tell  me  quick  and  we'll  go  in.  It's  getting  late."  He 
moved  to  seat  himself  beside  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  laughingly.  "  Sit  where  you  are.  I 
want  you  to  listen.  It  isn't  often  I  can  get  you  to  listen. 
As  I  said,  I've  got  to  have  something  worth  while  to  fill 
in  as  I  look  after  Winchie  when  he's  not  at  kindergarten. 
I've  been  getting  ready  for  a  year,  and  it  has  given  me 
occupation  when  he  was  sleeping  or  playing,  for  I  taught 
him  to  amuse  himself  and  not  to  look  to  me  for  everything. 
That  was  good  for  him  and  saved  me.  Well,  I  studied 
gardening  and  interior  decoration." 

"  What  a  fuss  you  do  make,"  said  he,  amused.  "  Why 
not  just  settle  down  and  be  a  plain  woman?  " 

"  Shame  on  you !     Tempting  me  to  go  to  pieces." 

"  You'll  not  improve  on  the  good  old-fashioned  woman, 
my  dear." 

"  You  deserve  to  be  married  to  one  of  them." 

"  I  am,"  declared  he.  "  Your  whims  don't  deceive  me. 
I  know  you.  Let's  go  in,  dear." 

She  shook  her  head  in  smiling  reproach.  "  Then  you 
don't  care  to  hear  my  plans  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     What  are  they?  " 

"  I've  got  everything  ready  to  make  those  changes  we 
discussed  on  our  honeymoon." 

"  Rer.lly !  "  exclaimed  he,  seeing  that  enthusiasm  was 
expected,  though  he  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  what  she  was 
talking  about. 

"  Of  course,  I'm  going  slowly  at  first,  as  I  want  to  be 
sure,  and  mustn't  be  extravagant.  I've  been  very  careful. 

43 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

I've  made  drawings  and  even  water  colors,  for  I  thought 
I  ought  to  see  how  things  would  look." 

He  was  puzzled  and  alarmed.  "  I  don't  believe  I  know 
which  scheme  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  We  discussed  so  many 
things  on  that  trip." 

"  I  mean,  to  change  the  house  and  grounds/'  explained 
she  with  bright  enthusiasm.  "  They'll  not  be  ugly  and  stiff 
and  cold  looking  much  longer." 

He  started  up.  "  Courtney,  what  are  you  talking 
about?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Why,  Dick !  Don't  you  remember  ?  I  told  you  some 
of  my  ideas  .on  gardens  and  interiors,  and  you  said " 

"  I  don't  know  what  careless,  unthinking  remark  I  may 
have  dropped,"  interrupted  he  angrily.  "  I  certainly  never 
intended  to  let  you  tear  things  up  and  make  a  mess."  He 
walked  up  and  down.  "  What  possesses  you  anyhow  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  Why  can't  you  behave  yourself  like  a  woman  ?  I 
never  heard  of  such  nonsense !  I  want  you  to  stop  med- 
dling in  things  that  are  beyond  you.  I  want  you  to  do 
your  duty  as  a  wife  and  a  mother.  I  want  you  to  stop 
annoying  me.  I  didn't  marry  a  blue-stocking,  an  unsexed 
thinking  woman.  I  married  a  sweet,  loving  wife." 

She  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  hammock,  perfectly  still.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  struck  her  unconscious  so  suddenly  that 
she  had  not  yet  fallen  over. 

"What  devil  keeps  nagging  at  you?"  he  demanded, 
pausing  in  his  angry  stride  to  face  her.  "  It  must  be  some 
woman's  having  a  bad  influence  on  you.  I'll  not  have  it. 
I'll  not  have  my  home  upset  and  my  wife  spoiled.  Who  is 
it,  Courtney?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  Answer  me !  " 

"  It's  myself,"  replied  she  in  a  quiet,  dumb  way. 
44 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  It's  not  yourself.     You  are  womanly." 

"  I've  got  to  have  something  to  do — something  worth 
while — or  I  can't  live." 

"  Attend  to  your  house  and  your  baby,  like  all  true 
women." 

"  It  isn't  enough/'  replied  she  in  the  same  monotonous, 
stupefied  way.  "  It  isn't  enough  for  me,  any  more  than  it'd 
be  for  you." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he,  with  the  man's  feeling  that  he 
had  thereby  answered  her. 

She  said  dazedly:  "  You  didn't  mean  it.  No,  you  didn't 
mean  it." 

"Mean  what?" 

"  All  my  plans — my  year's  work — and  such  a  beautiful 
house  and  place  I'll  make."  She  started  up,  clasped  her 
hands  round  his  arm.  "  O  Dick — don't  be  narrow — and 
so  distrustful  of  me.  I  know  I  can  do  it.  Let  me  show 
you  my  plans — my  sketches " 

He  took  her  hands,  and  said  with  gentle,  firm  earnest- 
ness, for  he  was  ashamed  of  having  lost  his  temper  with 
a  woman:  "  Courtney,  I  cannot  have  it.  I  will  not  let  you 
disturb  the  place  my  grandfather  gave  his  best  thought  to." 

"  But  you  don't  like  it,  dear,"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  respect  my  grandfather's  memory." 

"  But  on  our  wedding  trip  you  said " 

"  Now,  don't  argue  with  me !  " 

"  It's  because  you  think  I  couldn't  do  it?  " 

"  I  know  you  couldn't — if  you  must  have  the  truth." 

"  Let  me  show  you  my  sketches  and  paintings,"  she 
pleaded,  in  a  queer  kind  of  quiet  hysteria.  "  Let  me  ex- 
plain my  plans.  I'm  sure  you'll " 

"Now,  Courtney!  I've  told  you  my  decision.  I  want 
to  hear  no  more  about  it." 

4  45 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  searchingly.  He  was  like 
the  portrait  of  his  unbending  grandfather  that  made  the 
library  uncomfortable.  Her  arms  fell  to  her  sides.  She 
went  to  the  balcony  rail,  gazed  out  into  the  black  masses 
of  foliage.  Taken  completely  by  surprise,  she  could  not 
at  once  realize  any  part,  much  less  all,  of  what  those  words 
of  his  involved;  but  she  felt  in  her  heart  the  chill  of  a 
great  fear — the  fear  of  what  she  would  think,  of  what  she 
would  know,  when  she  did  realize. 

His  voice  interrupted.  "  While  you're  on  the  unpleas- 
ant subject  of  these  notions  of  yours,"  he  said,  with  an  at- 
tempt at  lightness  in  his  embarrassed  tone,  "  we  might  as 
well  finish  it — get  it  out  of  the  way  forever.  I  want  you 
to  stop  thinking  about  the  laboratory." 

She  turned,  swift  as  a  swallow. 

"  I  admit  I've  been  at  fault — encouraging  you  to  im- 
agine I'd  consent.  But  I  thought  you'd  forget  about  it. 
Apparently  you  haven't." 

A  long  silence. 

"  I  repeat,  I'm  sorry  I  misled  you.  It  seemed  to  me 
a  trifling  deception." 

She  did  not  speak,  did  not  move. 

"  When  you  think  it  over,  you'll  see  that  I'm  right — 
that  we're  much  happier  as  we  are." 

After  a  long  silence,  which  somehow  alarmed  him, 
though  he  told  himself  such  a  feeling  was  absurd,  she 
crossed  the  balcony  to  the  window.  As  she  paused  there, 
not  looking  toward  him,  the  profile  of  those  sweet,  irregu- 
lar features  of  hers  stood  out  clearly.  That  expression, 
though  it  was  quiet,  increased  his  absurd  alarm.  "  It's 
getting  late,"  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  gentle,  apologetic. 
"  I  think  I'll  go  in." 

you  angry,  Courtney  ?  " 
46 


"  No/'  slie  replied.     "  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Why  are  you  silent  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  she  said  slowly.  "  I  seem  to  have 
stopped  inside." 

He  went  and  put  his  arms  round  her.  She  was  passive 
as  a  doll.  "  Why,  you're  quite  cold,  child !  " 

"  I  must  go  in.     Good  night." 

"  I'll  join  you  in  a  few  minutes." 

She  shivered.     "  No,"  she  said.     "  Good  night." 

He  was  somewhat  disconcerted.  Then  he  reflected  that 
she  could  hardly  be  expected  to  give  up  her  whims  without 
a  little  struggling.  "  It  shows  how  sweet  and  good  she 
is,"  thought  he,  "  that  she  took  it  so  quietly."  And  he  went 
to  bed  in  the  room  across  the  hall — the  room  he  had  been 
occupying  most  of  the  time  since  three  months  before 
Winchie  came.  As  he  fell  asleep  he  felt  that  he  ha<3.  laid 
"  the  ghost "  and  had  settled  all  his  domestic  affairs  upon 
the  proper  basis.  He  slept,  but  she  lay  awake  the  whole 
night,  watching,  tearless,  beside  her  dead. 


IV 

NEXT  morning,  after  her  usual  breakfast  alone,  she  took 
Winchie  and  went  across  in  the  motor  boat  to  her  father's. 
If  she  had  been  led  blindfold  into  that  house  she  would 
have  known,  from  the  instant  of  the  opening  of  the  door, 
that  she  was  at  home.  Every  home  has  its  individual  odor. 
Hers  had  a  clean,  comfortable  perfume  suggestive  of  lav- 
ender. She  inhaled  it  deeply  now  as  she  paused  a  moment 
in  the  front  hall — inhaled  it  with  a  sudden  sense  of  peace, 
of  sorrow  shut  out  securely.  She  left  the  baby  in  the 
sitting  room  with  her  sister  Lai,  and  sought  out  her  mother 
in  the  pleasant  old-fashioned  back  parlor  with  its  outlook 
on  the  hollyhocks  and  sunflowers  of  the  kitchen  garden. 
Mrs.  Benedict,  a  model  of  judicial  sternness,  as  her  hus- 
band was  of  judicial  gentleness,  sat  reading  a  pious  book 
by  the  open  window.  She  glanced  up  as  her  daughter 
entered,  and  prepared  her  cold-looking  cheek  for  the  con- 
ventional salute.  But  Courtney  was  in  no  mood  for  conven- 
tions. She  seated  herself  on  the  roll  of  the  horsehair  sofa. 
"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Richard." 

The  tone  was  a  forewarning — an  ominous  forewarning 
because  it  was  calm.  Mrs.  Benedict,  for  all  her  resolute 
unworldliness,  had  been  unable  to  live  sixty-seven  years 
without  there  having  been  forced  upon  her  an  amount  of 
wisdom  sufficient  to  store  to  bursting  the  mind  of  any 
woman  half  her  age.  She  closed  the  heavy-looking  book 
in  her  lap,  leaving  her  glasses  to  mark  the  place.  "  I  don't 
think  I  need  tell  a  daughter  of  mine  that  she  cannot  dis- 
cuss her  husband  with  anyone." 

48 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Courtney  flushed.  "  That's  just  it/'  replied  she.  "  He 
is  no  longer  rny  husband." 

She  was  astonished  at  her  mother's  composure.  An 
announcement  about  the  weather  could  not  have  been  less 
excitedly  received.  She  did  not  realize  how  plainly  she 
was  showing,  in  her  changed  countenance,  in  stern  eyes 
and  resolute  chin,  the  evidences  a  mother  could  hardly 
fail  to  read — evidences  of  a  mood  a  sensible  mother  would 
not  aggravate  by  agitation.  "  I  cannot  live  with  him,"  she 
went  on.  "  I've  brought  Winchie  and  come  home." 

Her  words  startled  herself.  In  this  imperturbable,  se- 
verely sensible  presence  they  sounded  hysterical,  theatrical, 
though  she  had  thought  out  the  idea  they  conveyed  with 
what  she  felt  sure  was  the  utmost  deliberation.  Her 
mother's  gray-green  eyes  looked  at  her — simply  looked. 

"  I  know  you  don't  believe  in  divorce,  mother.  But  he 
and  I  have  never  been  really  married.  He's  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  the  man  I  loved.  And  he —  What  he  feels 
for  me  isn't  love  at  all.  He  doesn't  know  me — and  doesn't 
want  to  know  me." 

"  Has  he  sent  you  away?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     He's  satisfied." 

Mrs.  Benedict  folded  her  ladylike  hands  upon  the  pious 
book,  said  coldly  and  calmly:  "  Then  you  will  go  back  to 
him." 

"  Never.  I  refuse  to  live  with  a  man  who  classes  me 
with  the  lower  animals.  I " 

Her  mother's  stern,  calm  voice  interrupted.  "  Don't  say 
things  you  will  have  to  take  back.  You  will  return  because 
there  is  no  place  else  for  you." 

"  Mother !  Do  you  refuse  to  take  me  and  Winchie  ? 
Oh,  you  don't  understand.  You — who  believe  in  religion — 

you  couldn't  let  me " 

49 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Your  father/'  interrupted  her  mother  in  the  same  cold, 
placid  way,  "  is  not  to  be  made  judge  again.  We  shall 
have  to  give  up  this  house  and  retire  to  the  farm.  We  have 
nothing  but  the  farm.  It  will  take  every  cent  we  can  rake 
and  scrape  to  pay  the  insurance  premiums.  The  insurance 
premiums  must  be  paid.  The  insurance  is  for  your  sisters. 
They  have  no  husbands."  And  with  these  few  bald  state- 
ments she  stopped,  for  she  knew  that  under  her  daughter's 
youthful  idealism  there  was  the  solid  rock  of  common  sense, 
that  behind  her  impetuosity  there  was  her  father's  own  in- 
stinct for  justice. 

"  The  farm,"  said  Courtney,  stunned.  "  The  farm." 
Twenty  miles  back  in  the  wilderness — a  living  death — 
burial  alive.  "  Oh,  mother !  "  And  the  girl  flung  herself 
down  beside  the  old  woman  and  clasped  her  round  the 
waist.  "  You  shan't  go  there !  I'll  go  back  to  Richard 
and  we'll  see  that  you  and  father  and  Lai  and  Ann  stay 
on  here." 

Her  mother  was  as  rigid  as  the  old-fashioned  straight- 
back  chair  in  which  she  sat.  The  blood  burned  brightly  in 
the  center  of  each  of  her  white  cheeks,  but  her  voice  was 
distinctly  softer  as  she  said:  "You  will  go  back.  But  we 
accept  nothing  from  anybody." 

Courtney  hung  her  head.  "  Of  course  not,"  she  said, 
hurried  and  confused.  "  I  spoke  on  impulse." 

"  You'd  better  sit  in  a  chair,"  said  Mrs.  Benedict.  "  You 
are  rumpling  your  dress." 

But  Courtney  was  not  hurt.  She  had  an  instinct  why 
her  mother  wished  her  to  sit  at  a  distance.  "  Very  well, 
mother,"  said  she  meekly,  and  obeyed. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Benedict  spoke :  "  I  was  not  sur- 
prised when  you  told  me.  I  suppose  there  is  not  one 
woman  in  ten  thousand  who  doesn't  at  least  once  in  the 

50 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

first   five  years   of   her   married  life   resolve   to   leave  her 
husband." 

"  But  it's  different  with  me.  I  must  have  something — 
and  I  have  nothing." 

"  You  have  your  home  and  Winchie." 

"  That  house — those  prim,  dressed-up  looking  grounds 
— they've  always  oppressed  me.  And  I  hate  them — now 
that — "  She  checked  herself.  How  futile  to  relate  and 
to  rail.  "  As  for  Winchie,  he's  not  enough." 

"  There  will  be  others  presently." 

Courtney  gave  her  mother  a  horrified  look. 

"  You  will  do  your  duty  as  a  wife,  and  the  children  will 
be  your  reward." 

Courtney  could  not  discuss  this;  discussion  would  be 
both  useless  and  painful.  "  There  may  be  some  women  who 
could  be  content  with  looking  after  a  house  and  the  wants 
of  children,"  said  she.  "  But  I'm  not  one  of  them,  and  I 
never  saw  or  heard  of  a  worth-while  woman  who  was. 
How  am  I  to  spend  the  time?  I'm  like  you — I  don't  care 
for  running  about  doing  inane  things.  I  can't  just  read 
and  read,  with  no  purpose,  no  sympathy.  It  seems  to  me 
I  could  do  almost  anything  with  love — almost  nothing  with- 
out it.  ...  Brought  up  and  educated  like  a  man,  and  then 
condemned  to  the  old-fashioned  life  for  women — a  life  no 
man  would  endure  !  " 

Her  mother  was  looking  out  through  the  window,  a 
strange  expression  about  her  stern  mouth — the  expression 
of  one  who,  old  and  in  a  far,  cold  land,  thinks  of  home  and 
youth  when  the  sun  warmed  the  blood  and  the  heart. 

"  What  shall  I  do  if  I  go  back  ?  "  repeated  Courtney. 
"  But  why  ask  that?  I've  simply  got  to  go  back.  As  you 
say,  there's  no  place  else  for  me."  A  flush  of  shame  over- 
spread her  cheeks.  "  Oh,  it's  so  degrading !  " 

51 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  You  forget  Winchie,"  said  her  mother,  and  her  tone 
was  gentle. 

"  No,  I  thought  of  that  excuse.  But  I  was  ashamed 
to  speak  it.  It  seemed  like  hypocrisy.  Of  course,  I've  got 
to  go  back  for  his  sake.  But  if  I  hadn't  him  I'd  go  back 
just  the  same.  Mother,  you  ought  to  have  had  me  educated 
more  or  else  less.  If  I  knew  less  I  could  be  content  with 
the  sort  of  life  women  used  to  think  was  the  summit  of 
earthly  bliss.  If  I  knew  more  I  could  make  my  own  life. 
I  could  be  independent.  I  begin  to  understand  why  women 
are  restless  nowadays.  We're  neither  the  one  thing  nor 
the  other." 

Up  to  a  certain  point  Mrs.  Benedict  could  understand 
her  daughter,  could  sympathize.  She  could  even  have  sup- 
plemented Courtney's  forebodings  as  to  the  future  with 
drearier  actualities  of  experience.  But  beyond  that  point 
the  two  women  were  hopelessly  apart.  "  You  are  warring 
with  God,"  she  rebuked.  "  He  has  ordained  woman's  posi- 
tion." And  to  her  mind  that  settled  everything. 

"  It  isn't  God,"  replied  Courtney.  "  It's  just  igno- 
rance." 

"  It  is  God,"  declared  her  mother,  in  the  fanatic  tone 
that  told  Courtney  her  mind  was  closed. 

The  mother  and  daughter  belonged  to  two  different  gen- 
erations— the  two  that  are  perhaps  further  apart  than  any 
two  in  all  human  history.  Courtney  saw  how  far  apart 
she  and  her  mother  were,  thought  she  understood  why  her 
mother  could  sympathize  with  her  restlessness  in  woman's 
ancient  bondage,  but  could  only  say  "  sacrilege  "  when  the 
younger  and  better  educated  woman  went  on  from  vague 
restlesmcis  to  open  revolt. 

"  God  has  seen  fit  to  make  the  lot  of  woman  hard," 
said  the  mother. 

52 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  If  that  is  God/'  cried  the  daughter,  "  then  the  less 
said  about  Him  the  better." 

"  Courtney,  your  sinful  heart  will  bring  you  to  grief." 

"  Is  it  a  sin  to  think?  " 

"  I  sometimes  believe  it  is — for  a  woman,"  replied  the 
mother,  with  the  kind  of  bitter  irony  into  which  the  most 
reverent  devotee  is  sometimes  goaded  by  the  whimsical 
cruelties  of  his  deity. 

Courtney  had  long  since  learned  to  be  unargumentative 
before  her  mother's  somber  and  savage  religion,  so  logical 
yet  so  inhuman.  She  had  dimly  felt  that  if  she  ever  inves- 
tigated religion,  the  misery  of  the  world  would  compel  her 
to  choose  between  believing  in  her  mother's  devil  god  and 
believing  nothing.  So  she  left  religion  aside  in  her  scheme 
of  life,  like  so  many  of  the  men  and  women  of  her  gen- 
eration. 

"  I  ought  to  have  had  more  education  or  less,"  she  re- 
peated. "  I  ought  to  have  had  more,  for  it  wouldn't  have 
been  fair  to  give  me  less  than  the  rest  of  the  girls  have." 

She  fancied  it  was  her  formal  education  of  the  college 
th^t  had  made  her  think  and  feel  as  she  did.  In  fact,  that 
liad  little,  perhaps  nothing,  to  do  with  it;  for  colleges, 
except  the  as  yet  few  scientific  schools — stupefy  or  stunt 
more  minds  than  they  stimulate.  She  was  simply  a  child 
of  her  own  generation,  and  the  forces  that  were  stirring 
her  to  restlessness  were  part  of  its  universal  atmosphere — 
the  atmosphere  all  who  live  in  it  must  breathe,  the  "  spirit 
of  the  time  "  that  makes  the  very  yokel  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  clod  see  things  in  it  his  yokel  father  never  saw. 

She  knew  her  mother  would  gladly  help  her,  but  she 
realized  she  might  as  hopefully  appeal  to  Winchie.  All 
her  mother  could  say  would  be :  "  Yes,  it  is  sad.  But  the 
only  thing  to  do  is  to  return  and  pretend  to  be  the  old- 

53 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

fashioned  wife,  and  perhaps  custom  will  make  the  harness 
cease  to  gall."  Well,  perhaps  her  mother  was  right;  per- 
haps there  was  no  solution,  no  self-respecting  hopeful  solu- 
tion. Certainly  she  could  not  support  herself,  except  in 
some  menial  and  meager  way  that  would  more  surely  kill 
all  that  was  aspiring  in  her  than  would  submission  to  the 
lot  which  universal  custom  made  abject  only  in  theory.  She 
could  not  support  herself — and  there  was  Winchie,  too. 
Winchie  had  his  rights — rights  to  the  advantages  his 
father's  position  and  fortune  gave.  Dick  had  made  it  clear 
that  he  did  not  and  would  not  have  the  kind  of  love,  the 
kind  of  relationship,  she  believed  in.  She  must  go  on  his 
terms  or  not  at  all. 

She  ended  the  long  silence,  during  which  her  mother 
sat  motionless  in  an  attitude  of  patient  waiting  for  the 
inevitable.  "  I  will  go,"  she  said.  "  And  I  will  try  to  be 
to  him  the  kind  of  wife  he  wants." 

Mrs.  Benedict  looked  at  her  daughter;  there  were  tears 
6f  pride  in  her  eyes.  "  That  is  right,"  she  said,  and  they 
talked  of  it  no  more. 

But  on  the  way  back  in  the  motor  boat,  and  for  the  rest 
of  that  day,  and  for  a  good  part  of  many  a  day  and  many 
a  night  thereafter,  Courtney  Vaughan's  mind  was  storm- 
ily  busy.  It  teemed  with  the  thoughts  that  in  this  age  of 
the  break-up  of  the  old-fashioned  institution  of  the  family 
force  themselves  early  or  late  upon  every  woman  endowed 
with  the  intelligence  to  have,  or  to  dream  of,  self-respect. 


Thenceforth  Dick  Vaughan,  if  he  had  thought  about 
it  at  all,  would  have  congratulated  himself  on  his  wise  and 
thorough  adjustment  of  his  threatened  domestic  affairs.  But 
he  gave  no  more  thought  to  it  than  does  the  next  human 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

being.  We  do  not  annoy  ourselves  with  what  is  going  on  in 
the  heads  of  those  around  us.  We  look  only  at  results.  And 
usually  this  plan  works  well;  for,  no  matter  what  the  aver- 
age human  being  may  have  in  mind,  the  habit  of  a  routine  of 
action  ultimately  determines  his  or  her  real  self.  Once  in 
a  while,  however,  circumstances  interfere,  encourage  the 
latent  revolt  against  action's  routine  apparently  so  placidly 
pursued.  But  this  is  rare. 

The  weeks,  the  months  went  by;  and  Courtney  seemed, 
and  thought  herself,  a  typical  "  settled  "  wife  and  mother. 
That  is,  as  "  settled "  as  an  intelligent,  energetic,  and 
young  woman,  restless  in  mind  and  body,  could  be.  She 
did  not  attempt  to  come  to  a  definite  verbal  understanding 
with  him.  What  would  be  the  use?  There  was  nothing  to 
change  except  herself.  There  was  nothing  to  explain. 
She  understood  him.  He  did  not  understand  her,  did  not 
wish  to,  could  not  on  account  of  his  prejudices,  however 
carefully  she  might  explain.  "  No,"  thought  she,  "  the 
only  thing  is  for  me  to  accept  my  position  as  woman  and 
adapt  myself  to  it,  since  I  haven't  the  right,  or  the  cour- 
age, or  the  whatever  it  is  I  lack,  to  do  as  I'd  like."  The 
only  outward  difference  in  their  relations  was  that  she 
rarely  talked  with  him,  and  when  he  was  about,  fell  into 
his  habit  of  abstraction. 

That  winter  he  became  extremely  irregular  about  com- 
ing to  dinner,  and  as  the  days  lengthened  with  the  spring 
he  often  worked  on  through  supper  time  also.  In  late 
May  or  early  June  he  began  to  note  that  when  he  did  come 
up  to  the  house  for  supper,  his  wife  was  sometimes  there 
and  sometimes  not.  Gradually  her  absence  made  an  im- 
pression on  him,  and  her  always  answering  his  inquiry 
with,  "  I  was  over  at  the  club."  As  that  meant  the  Outing 
Club,  established  and  supported  and  frequented  by  the 

55 


young  people  of  Wenona  and  its  suburbs,  he  was  entirely 
satisfied.  This,  until  about  midsummer.  One  evening, 
when  she  returned  in  the  dusk  from  supper  at  the  club, 
she  found  him  seated  on  the  bench  at  the  landing  stage, 
smoking  moodily.  He  was  scantily  civil  to  Shirley  Drum- 
mond,  who  had  brought  her  in  the  club  launch.  When 
Shirley  was  well  on  the  way  back  to  the  north  shore,  Court- 
ney, who  had  seated  herself  beside  her  husband,  spoke  of 
the  heat  and  unwound  the  chiffon  scarf  about  her  bare  neck 
and  shoulders.  Dick  glanced  round.  In  some  moods  he 
would  not  have  seen  at  all.  In  other  moods  those  slender 
shoulders,  that  graceful  throat,  and  the  small  head  with 
its  lightly  borne  masses  of  auburn  hair  would  have  appealed 
to  his  pride  and  joy  of  possession.  But  things  had  gone 
Wrong  at  "  the  shop,"  and  he  was  in  the  mood  that  could 
readily  either  turn  him  to  her  for  the  consolation  of  a 
"  lighter  hour  "  or  set  him  off  in  a  rage.  He  frowned  upon 
the  exposed  shoulders. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  dress  ?  "  he  demanded. 

She  heard  simply  the  question.  Her  thoughts  were  on 
the  events  of  the  evening  at  the  club.  "  Had  it  made  here," 
said  she,  unconscious  of  his  mood.  "  It's  something  like 
one  I  saw  in  a  fashion  picture  from  Paris.  Like  it?  " 

To  her  amazement  he  replied  angrily:  "  I  do  not.  I've 
never  seen  a  dress  I  disapproved  of  so  thoroughly.  Don't 
wear  it  again,  and  please  be  careful  how  you  adopt  a  fash- 
ion you  get  that  way.  French  fashions  are  set  by  a  class 
of  women  I  couldn't  speak  to  you  about.  Respectable 
women  have  to  alter  them  greatly." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  dress  ?  "  exclaimed 
she.  "  Everyone  admired  it  at  the  club." 

"  It  isn't  decent,"  replied  he.  "  I  know  you  are  so 
innocent  that  you  don't  think  of  those  things.  But  it's  my 

56 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

duty  to  protect  you.  I  won't  have  men  commenting  on  my 
wife's  person." 

"  But,  Dick,"  protested  she,  "  this  isn't  a  low-cut  dress. 
It's  higher  than  those  I  usually  wear.  It  has  bands  across 
the  shoulders  and  a  real  back " 

"  Then  change  all  your  dresses.  You  must  not  make 
yourself  conspicuous." 

"  Conspicuous !  The  other  women  wear  much  lower-cut 
dresses  than  I  do." 

"  I  know  about  such  things,'/  said  he  peremptorily. 
"  I  don't  believe  in  low-neck  dresses  anyhow.  What 
business  has  a  good  woman  flaunting  her  charms — rousing 
in  other  men  thoughts  she  ought  to  rouse  in  her  husband 
only  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  all  a  matter  of  custom?  "  she  said 
persuasively.  She  was  not  convinced,  or  even  shaken.  But 
she  admired  the  shrewdness  of  his  argument.  The  reason 
she  had  never  grown  to  dislike  him  was  that  even  in  his 
prejudices  he  was  always  plausible,  and  not  in  his  nar- 
rowest narrowness  was  he  ever  petty.  "  Now  really,  Dick, 
if  that  were  carried  out  logically,  a  woman'd  have  to  cover 
her  face  and  not  speak,  for  often  it's  a  woman's  voice  that 
charms  a  man  " — with  a  little  laugh — "  and  once  in  a  long 
while  what  she  says." 

"  I  would  carry  it  out  logically,"  replied  he  promptly, 
"  if  I  had  my  way.  That  reminds  me.  You're  away  from 
home  very  often  these  days,  I  notice.  You're  over  at  the 
club  a  great  deal." 

"  The  weather's  been  so  fine,  everybody  goes." 

"  I've  no  objection  to  your  going  occasionally.  But  af- 
ter all  the  place  for  a  good  woman  is  at  home." 

She  thought  so  too,  as  a  general  principle;  home  un- 
doubtedly was  the  place  for  a  good  woman,  or  any  sort 

57 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


of  woman,  or  for  a  man;  that  was  to  her  mind  the  mean- 
ing of  home— the  most  attractive,  the  most  magnetic  spot 
on  earth.  However,  the  Vaughan  place  was  not  "  home." 
She  could  not  discuss  this  with  him,  so  she  simply  an- 
swered, "  But  I  get  bored — here  alone — and  with  nothing 
to  do.  And  nobody '11  come  at  this  time  of  year,  with 
something  on  at  the  club  every  day  and  evening." 

"  You  don't  even  stay  home  to  meals." 

"  Neither  do  you." 

"  But  I  haven't  Winchie  to  look  after." 

"  He  plays  with  the  other  children  at  the  kindergarten. 
And  Miss  Brockholst  can  keep  a  child  amused  as  I  couldn't. 
When  I  stay  out  to  supper  I  see  that  Nanny  or  Lizzie 
brings  him  home  and  puts  him  to  bed.  And  I'm  not  out  to 
supper  often." 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  said  Dick  imperiously. 

"  You  ought  to  come  with  me,"  rej  oined  she.  "  But  you 
never  will." 

"  I've  no  time  for  foolishness.  And  I'm  sure  you  haven't 
either." 

"  What  ought  I  to  do  with  myself?  " 

"  What  other  good  women  do.  Our  mothers  didn't  hang 
about  clubs." 

"  No.  But  these  aren't  pioneer  times.  Things  are  en- 
tirely different  nowadays.  That  was  why — "  She  did  not 
finish.  She  did  not  wish  to  remind  him  how  he  had  re- 
fused to  let  her  either  share  his  life  or  make  a  life  of  her 
own.  She  refrained  because  the  subject  might  be  un- 
pleasant to  him.  It  was  no  longer  unpleasant  to  her;  she 
now  had  not  the  least  desire  to  share  his  life,  was  in  a  way 
content  to  drift  aimlessly  along  with  the  rest  of  the  aimless 
women. 

"  Yes,  many  of  the  women  are  different  nowadays," 
58 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

said  he.  "  The  more  reason  for  my  wife's  conducting  her- 
self as  a  woman  should." 

She  flushed  with  sudden  anger.  "  Why  can't  you  ac- 
cept a  woman  as  a  human  being?"  exclaimed  she.  "Oh, 
you  men — tempting — compelling — us  to  be  hypocrites — • 
and  making  our  natural  impulses  rot  into  vices  because 
they  have  to  be  hid  away  in  the  dark." 

"  We  will  not  quarrel,"  said  he,  in  the  calm  superior 
tone  he  always  took  when  their  talk  touched  on  the  two 
sexes.  "  I  simply  say  I  will  not  tolerate  my  wife's  being 
a  club  lounger." 

To  have  answered  would  have  been  to  say  what  must 
precipitate  a  furious  and  futile  quarrel.  She  kept  silent, 
with  less  effort  than  many  women  would  have  to  make  in 
the  circumstances.  She  had  had  the  conventional  feminine 
training  in  self-suppression,  that  so  often  gives  women  the 
seeming  of  duplicity  and  only  too  often  imperceptibly  leads 
them  into  forming  the  habit  of  duplicity.  She  had  also  had 
special  training  in  self-concealment  through  having  been 
brought  up  austerely.  She  kept  silent,  and  made  up  her 
mind  to  obey.  She  had  heard  much  talk  among  the  women 
at  the  club  about  the  "rights  of  a  wife";  but  it  had  not 
convinced  her.  She  could  not  see  that  she,  or  any  other 
of  the  women  married  as  was  she,  contributed  to  the  family 
anything  that  entitled  her  to  oppose  the  husband's  will  as 
to  how  it  should  be  conducted.  And  she  would  have 
scorned  to  get  by  cajolery  what  she  could  not  have  got 
honestly.  She  was  thus  the  good  wife,  not  through  fear  of 
him,  for  she  was  not  a  coward  and  he  was  not  the  sort  of 
small  tyrant  that  makes  the  women  and  the  children  trem- 
ble; nor  was  it  because  she  was  faithful  to  her  marriage 
vows,  for  she  never  thought  of  them.  Her  submissiveness 
was  entirely  due  to  the  agreement  she  had  tacitly  signed 

59 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

the  day  she  went  back  to  him,  after  the  talk  with  her 
mother.  In  return  for  shelter  and  support  she  would  be, 
so  far  as  she  could,  the  kind  of  wife  he  wanted. 

She  kept  away  from  the  club,  stayed  at  home;  and  soon 
the  telephone  bell  was  ringing,  and  pleading  voices  were 
giving  the  flattering  proof  that  in  her  abrupt  divorce  from 
the  social  life  of  the  town  the  sense  of  loss  was  by  no  means 
altogether  on  her  side.  And  presently  over  came  Sarah 
Carpenter  escorted  by  her  big  handsome  brother,  Shirley 
Drummond,  "  as  a  committee  of  two,"  so  Sarah  put  it,  "  to 
investigate  and  report  on  your  cruel  and  inhuman  treat- 
ment of  us."  It  was  dull,  frightfully  dull,  at  the  club 
house,  she  went  on  to  explain.  They  did  nothing  but  sit 
round  and  try  to  guess  why  Courtney  Vaughan  had  dropped 
them.  "  And  have  you  forgotten  the  flower  show  you  were 
planning?  and  the  play  you  were  going  to  organize?  and 
the  Venetian  fete  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  just  talk,"  replied  Courtney.  "  It's  far 
too  hot.  I'm  resting,  and  looking  after  my  boy.  I'll  be 
over  some  afternoon  soon." 

Sarah  pleaded  and  coaxed.  Shirley  took  no  part,  but 
sat  on  the  veranda  rail,  his  long  legs  swinging,  his  eyes  on 
the  interior  of  the  stravr  hat  he  was  turning  round  and 
round  between  his  hands.  When  Sarah  realized  that  there 
was  unalterable  resolution  under  Courtney's  light  and  gay 
laughing  off  of  her  entreaties,  she  bade  Shirley  wait  there 
for  her  and  went  to  call  on  Molly  Donaldson.  Courtney 
looked  admiringly  after  Sarah's  long  willowy  figure  and 
striking  costume — sunshade  and  hat,  dress  and  stock- 
ings and  ties,  all  of  various  cool,  harmonious  shades 
of  red. 

"  Your  sister  always  was  pretty,"  said  Courtney.  "  But 
60 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

since  she's  married  it  seems  to  me  she  gets  prettier  all  the 
time." 

"  Marriage  does  bring  out  those  women  that  don't  go  to 
pieces/'  said  he.  "  I  guess  it's  because  they  get  the  cour- 
age to  be  more  like  themselves.  Girls  are  such  hypocrites — 
always  posing.  You  were  the  only  one  I  ever  liked.  You 
weren't  a  hypocrite.  Where  you  didn't  dare  be  yourself 
you  simply  kept  quiet." 

"  I  like  your  impudence — attacking  women  for  being 
what  you  men  compel." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  he  absently.  "  But  I  didn't  come  over 
here  in  the  hot  sun  to  talk  generalities.  Look  here,  Court- 
ney, there's  something  I've  got  to  say  to  you."  His  good- 
humored  commonplace  face  was  even  redder  than  the  heat 
and  his  bulk — for  he  wasn't  a  thin  man — warranted.  His 
voice  was  low  and  confused,  yet  suggested  a  man  talking 
against  a  mob  and  determined  to  be  heard.  "  I've  got  to 
tell  you  that  I  care  for  you — and  have  ever  since  we  used 
to  walk  from  high  school  together — whenever  some  other 
fellow  didn't  slip  in  ahead  of  me." 

Courtney,  puzzled,  rapidly  reviewed  her  conduct  toward 
Shirley  the  past  two  months — since  he  came  home  from 
Harvard  Law  School.  She  recalled  nothing  that  could 
have  given  him  encouragement  to  this  speech.  "  I  should 
hope  you  did  like  me,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  Of  course, 
we're  good  friends,  as  always."  She  rose.  "  Let's  go  over 
to  Donaldson's."  Her  tone  and  manner  contained  the  sub- 
tle warning  to  desist  that  reaches  through  the  thickest  skin 
into  the  dullest  brain. 

"  You    know    what    I    mean,"    said    Shirley    doggedly. 

"  Now  listen  to  me  while  I   make  a  proposition.      You're 

a  sensible,  up-to-date   woman,   and   this    is   the   twentieth 

century,  not  the  dark  ages.     I'm  not  as  clever  as  some, 

5  61 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

but  neither  am  I  as  much  the  muttonhead  as  maybe  you 
think.  Anyhow,  I  appreciate  you." 

"  Drop  it,"  said  Courtney. 

"  I  want  you  to  get  a  divorce  and  marry  me." 

He  spoke  as  tranquilly  as  if  they  were  at  a  dance  and 
he  were  asking  her  for  the  next  two-step.  She  stared. 
"  Well,  I  never  did !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  see  you're  surprised,"  said  he.  "  I've  thought  about 
it  so  much  that  I've  got  used  to  it." 

"  This  is  something  new — a  woman  getting  proposals 
after  she's  married,  just  as  if  she  wasn't."  She  was  laugh- 
ing. 

"Why  not?"  retorted  he,  unruffled.  "Nobody  looks 
on  marriage  as  the  finish  any  more.  I  don't  think  you  love 
me — not  for  a  minute.  You've  got  better  brains  than  I 
have — a  lot  better,  for  I'll  admit  I'm  pretty  slow.  But 
you've  tried  brains  and  you  see  they  don't  amount  to  much 
when  it  comes  down  to  solid  living.  You  don't  love  me 
now.  But,  Courtney,  if  you'll  marry  me,  I'll  guarantee  to 
treat  you  and  the  youngster  so  that  you'll  simply  have  to 
love  me." 

She  was  slowly  recovering  from  her  utter  amazement, 
when  he  spoke  those  last  words  in  his  simple,  honest  way 
with  his  love  in  his  voice,  in  his  eyes — love  that  makes 
bright  the  dullest  face,  quickens  into  bloom  the  barrenest 
fancy,  puts  sweet  music  in  the  most  tedious  voice.  Her 
words  of  rebuke  dropped  back  unsaid,  her  throat  choked 
up  and  tears  welled  into  her  eyes.  While  she  was  still 
trying  to  control  this  sudden  treachery  of  her  hungry  heart, 
he  went  on:  "I  was  away  to  college  when  I  heard  you 
were  engaged.  I  cut  exams,  and  everything  and  rustled 
out  here.  But  I  saw  you  were  dead  in  love.  It  nearly 
knocked  me  out.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  marrying's 

62 


onhr  a  trial  go  and  that  in  a  few  years  I  might  get  you  and 
you'd  be  all  the  better  for  the  experience." 

What  he  said  did  not  shock  her.  But  she  was  shocked 
that  she  was  not  shocked.  Still,  it  isn't  easy  to  meet  a 
wholly  new  form  of  attack;  and  less  easy  is  it  to  be  stiff 
and  stern  with  a  person  one  has  known  always  and  liked 
always — a  person  one  knows  to  be  through  and  through 
sincere  and  profoundly  respectful.  "  Shirley/'  said  she, 
"  you  mean  well  and  you  are  slow — so,  you  don't  realize 
that  what  you've  said  is  perfectly  outrageous." 

"Why?"  demanded  he.  "  Is  it  an  insult  to  a  woman 
to  tell  her  you  love  her?  Is  it  a  crime  to  let  her  know  that, 
if  she  isn't  suited,  there's  some  one  waiting  to  try  to  help 
her  get  suited  ?  Where's  the  outrage  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  just  where,"  admitted  she.  "  But  I 
feel  that  it  is  an  outrage — that  you've  taken  advantage  of 
our  friendship." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I've  shown  I  am  your  friend ;  ready 
to  stand  by  you.  I  haven't  laid  a  finger  on  you,  and,  so 
help  me  God,  Courtney,  I  couldn't  try.  I'm  that  old  fogey, 
at  least.  And  I  haven't  tried  to  wheedle  or  win  you — 
have  I?  I  just  made  a  plain  statement  that  if  you  want  me, 
I'm  waiting — and  eager.  I've  seen  how  things  are  with 
you " 

"  You've  seen  nothing  of  the  kind !  "  Her  pride  and 
her  loyalty  were  in  arms  now. 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  that  were  as  honest  as  an 
open  sky.  "  You  don't  love  your  husband,  nor  he  you," 
he  said.  "  If  you  did,  you'd  not  see  as  little  of  each  other 
as  you  do." 

"  Shirley,  it's  cowardly  to  say  those  things,"  she  began 
angrily. 

"  Oh,  I'd  say  'em  to  him,  if  it  wasn't  that  I'm  afraid 
63 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


you'd  have  to  suffer  for  it.  You  needn't  get  mad.  I've 
been  so  damn  miserable  this  past  week,  not  seeing  you, 
that  I  don't  care  what  happens  to  me.  I  know  why  you 
don't  come  over  any  more.  He's  shut  you  up  here.  I  saw 
it  in  his  face  that  night." 

"  It  was  about  time  he  stopped  me,  I  see,"  said  she 
quickly.  "  Evidently  lie  understood  better  than  I  did.  But 
you  mustn't  go  away  thinking  I'm  obeying  a  jailer.  Do 
you  suppose  I'd  stay  here  at  the  request  of  a  man  unless 
I  cared  for  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  he.  "  A  right  sort  woman'll  put 
up  with  most  anything  to  avoid  a  row.  You  needn't  try 
to  fool  me,  Courtney.  I  know — everyone  knows — the 
truth." 

"  The  truth !  "  cried  Courtney.  "  How  dare  you  sit 
there  insulting  me !  " 

"  Now,  Courtney !  "  begged  he. 

"  Go  join  your  sister  and  take  her  back  without  com- 
ing here." 

She  felt  she  ought  to  leave  him;  but  her  hungry  heart 
would  not  let  her  go.  She  lingered,  looking  at  him  angrily, 
watching  the  utter  love  in  his  countenance — and  enjoying 
it.  He  slowly  dropped  from  the  veranda  rail  and  faced 
her.  His  look  was  that  same  mingling  of  gentle  and  fierce 
qualities  that  makes  a  bulldog's  face  fascinating.  "  If 
I've  said  anything  I  shouldn't,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
he.  "  But  I  stick  to  my  proposition.  You  can  take  it  or 
leave  it — now,  or  next  year — or  whenever  you  like.  It's  you 
or  nobody  for  me."  He  put  out  his  hand. 

She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her.  But  she  had  to  lower 
her  head  that  he  might  not  see — "  and  misunderstand  " — • 
her  swimming  eyes,  her  trembling  lip. 

"  Please  shake  hands,"  he  begged. 
64 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  That  hurts/'  said  he  shakily,  and  she  turned  hastily 
away.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I'm  used  to  hurts." 

He  lingered,  embarrassed.  At  length,  with  a  huge  sigh, 
he  descended  from  the  veranda  and  plodded  across  the  lawn 
toward  the  hedge.  She  darted  upstairs  and  shut  herself 
in  her  room  and  cried,  lying  on  the  bed  face  down.  She 
felt  guilty;  would  not  the  right  sort  of  woman  have  been 
able  to  meet  such  talk  from  a  man,  even  a  Shirley  Drum- 
mond,  with  effective  fiery  resentment?  But  she  knew  it 
was  not  her  guilt  that  she  was  weeping  for.  No,  her  tears 
were  flowing  from  the  wounds  in  her  heart — the  wounds 
she  had  thought  healed.  She  had  not  the  faintest  feeling 
in  the  least  akin  to  love  for  Shirley  Drummond.  She  never 
could  love  him.  She  had  always  avoided  him  as  far  as  her 
instinct  against  hurting  people's  feelings  permitted.  His 
grotesque  proposal,  in  itself,  appealed  only  to  her  sense  of 
humor.  But  at  the  mere  sound  of  loving  words,  words  of 
considerate  tenderness,  how  her  whole  being  vibrated !  It 
terrified  her,  this  heart  of  hers  suddenly  and  fiercely  in- 
surgent. 

The  next  evening  after  supper  she  interrupted  Dick  in 
the  library.  "  Richard,"  she  said  gravely,  "  I  want  you  to 
come  upstairs  with  me  a  few  minutes." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he.  "  Directly."  And  he  worked 
on — and  would  have  continued  to  work  until  bedtime  had 
she  not  insisted. 

"  No.     Right  away,  please." 

Pie  glanced  up.  Her  eyes  prevented  him  from  return- 
ing to  his  calculations.  "  All  right,"  said  he. 

Her  sitting  room  was  changed  into  a  painting  and  draw- 
ing exhibition.  On  the  walls,  on  tables,  on  sofas  and  chairs, 

65 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

and  leaning  against  the  baseboard  were  pictures  and  plans 
of  interiors  and  of  gardens,  many  in  colors,  more  in  black 
and  white,  most  of  all  in  ground-plan  drawings. 

"  What's  this?  "  said  he. 

"  You  were  right  about  my  going  to  the  club  too  much/' 
replied  she.  "  I  shall  stay  at  home  more.  But  I  must  have 
something  to  occupy  me.  These  are  my  plans  for  making 
over  the  house  and  grounds.  Please  don't  try  to  stop  me. 
I  am  going  to  explain  it  all  to  you,  and  I  ask  you  to  be 
considerate  and  polite  enough  to  listen." 

Her  manner  was  compelling;  the  exhibit  was  interest- 
ing. And  he  looked  and  listened  as  she  talked,  rapidly, 
intensely,  yet  clearly  and  calmly,  describing  the  whole 
scheme  in  minutest  detail,  not  forgetting  expense  which 
she  demonstrated  would  be  small.  He  asked  several  ques- 
tions— enough  to  show  that  he  was  giving  his  attention. 
When  she  finished  she  was  trembling  all  over.  He  continued 
to  inspect  the  water  colors  that  showed  how  things  would 
look  when  the  changes  had  been  made.  After  a  while  he 
smiled  and  nodded  at  her.  "  Very  clever,"  he  said.  "  Real- 
ly, I  had  no  idea  you  could  do  anything  like  this." 

Her  mouth  and  throat  were  dry;  her  eyes  gleamed. 
She  was  giving  out  the  force  that  flows  from  a  soul  in  des- 
perate earnest — the  force  that  sweeps  away  any  opposition 
not  already  aggressive,  before  it  has  a  chance  to  gather. 
"  I  may  try  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  That's  another  matter,"  reflected  he  aloud.  "  I 
ought  to  say  no,  for  I'm  sure  you'll  be  disappointed  and 
your  mistakes'll  nave  to  be  covered  up."  Now  that  he  was 
reminded  of  it  he  was  ashamed  of  the  curt  ill-humored  way 
he  had  issued  his  orders  about  her  going  to  the  club. 
"  But  you  can  only  learn  by  trying.  So,  I've  no  objections 
to  your  making  a  start"  He  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoul- 

66 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ders.  "  A  little  at  a  time — remember !  "  he  cautioned.  "  A 
very  little." 

With  that  unconsciousness  of  her  being  intelligent 
enough  to  see  his  thoughts  in  his  expression — an  uncon- 
sciousness to  which  she  had  long  since  got  used,  but  never 
hardened — he  was  showing  that  he  wished  to  refuse  her, 
but  that,  being  taken  by  surprise,  he  in  his  kindness  of 
heart  could  not  frame  a  pretext.  His  manner  took  from  her 
all  desire  or  ability  to  thank  him.  "  I'll  be  careful,"  said 
she. 

The  smile  in  his  eyes  was  like  a  parent's  at  a  precocious 
child.  He  kissed  her,  patted  her  cheek,  went  back  to  his 
work.  He  had  read  the  anthropologies,  all  written  by 
men.  Anthropology  being  out  of  his  line,  he  accepted  as 
exact  science  the  prejudice  and  baseless  assertion  and  mis- 
leading "  statistics  "  there  set  down  as  "  laws."  Nature 
had  made  man  active,  woman  passive ;  thus,  action  in  woman 
was  contrary  to  nature,  was  inevitably  abortive  and  whim- 
sical, was  never,  except  by  rare  accident,  valuable.  "  She's 
clever,"  thought  he,  by  way  of  finis  to  the  subject.  "  But 
she'll  soon  tire  of  this  thing  and  drop  it.  Well,  I  suppose 
a  few  more  years '11  wash  away  the  smatter  she  got  at 
college,  and  this  restlessness  of  hers  will  yield  to  nature, 
and  she'll  be  content  and  happy  in  her  womanhood.  A  few 
more  children  would  have  an  excellent  effect.  She's  suffer- 
ing from  the  storing  up  of  the  energy  that  ought  to  have 
outlet  in  childbearing.  As  grandfather  often  said,  it's  a 
dreadful  mistake,  educating  women  beyond  their  sphere. 
But  it  hasn't  done  the  dear  child  any  permanent  harm. 
She's  far  too  womanly." 


BY  the  time  Winchie  was  four  years  old — and  in  looks 
and  health,  in  truthfulness  and  self-reliance  a  credit  to  her 
— she  had  about  completed  the  transformation  of  house 
and  grounds.  The  Vaughan  place  was  no  longer  an  exam- 
ple of  those  distressing  attempts  to  divorce  beauty  from 
its  supreme  quality,  use,  that  are  the  delight  of  the  un- 
fortunates whose  esthetic  faculty  has  been  paralyzed  by 
the  mediaeval  monastic  education  still  blighting  the  modern 
world.  It  was,  throughout,  beauty  applied  to  use,  use 
achieved  in  beauty.  She  had  no  theory  in  doing  this;  she 
followed  the  leadings  of  a  courageous  and  unspoiled  taste 
which  was  thoroughly  practical,  as  practical  as  that  of  the 
artists  of  the  age  of  Pericles,  a  taste  which  abhorred  the 
bizarre  and  the  blatant.  The  results  would  not  have 
pleased  Colonel  Achilles;  they  would  not  have  stirred  the 
enthusiasm  of  anyone  who  has  been  enslaved  by  false  edu- 
cation to  admire  only  what  has  been  approved  by  tradi- 
tion. But  charm  no  one  could  have  denied.  Winter  and 
summer  the  house,  livable  and  restful  in  every  corner, 
bloomed  within — for  over  no  other  part  of  nature  is  man's 
dominion  so  complete  as  over  the  plant  kingdom.  From 
early  spring  through  the  last  warm  days  of  autumn  the 
grounds  were  delightful  to  behold;  it  was  as  if  summer 
were  living  there  freely  and  at  ease,  with  no  restraint 
upon  her  except  keeping  her  clear  of  the  restraint  of  her 
own  profuse  and  careless  litter.  In  winter  the  lawns  and 
clumps  and  hedges  were  by  no  means  dead  or  filled  only 
with  evergreen's  mortuary  suggestions;  there  are  rpany 

68 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

plants  that  bloom  with  bright  berries  and  leaves  in  the 
midst  of  snow  and  ice,  and  Courtney  knew  about  them. 
Winter  indoors  seemed  a  millennium  in  which  winter  and 
summer  lived  amicably  together.  There  were  snows  and 
icy  storms  without,  huge  open  fires  within ;  the  windows 
were  gay  with  blossoming  plants,  and  from  a  conservatory 
she  built  and  stocked  at  surprisingly  small  cost  there 
came  cut  flowers  for  vases  and  bowls  as  well  as  plants  that 
replaced  those  which  had  done  service  and  needed  rest. 
Courtney  was  one  of  those  for  whom  things  grow;  her  own 
vivid  life  seemed  to  radiate  throughout  her  surroundings 
and  infect  all  things  with  the  passion  to  live  vividly.  With 
the  flowers,  as  with  Winchie,  she  was  patient,  intelligent, 
understanding — never  expecting  too  much,  always  encour- 
aging to  the  least  disposition  to  develop. 

All  this  wonder  of  transformation  was  not  wrought  in 
a  day,  nor  by  dreaming.  It  came  as  the  result  of  tireless 
and  incessant  labor  of  brain  and  hand.  She  had  dreamed 
her  dream;  she  was  determined  that  it  should  be  realized. 
Failure  did  not  daunt  her;  it  taught  her.  Nor  was  she 
halted  by  her  sense,  rather  than  experience,  of  a  latent 
reluctance  in  Richard  about  giving  her  money  he  wanted 
for  the  laboratory;  for,  as  his  work  there  expanded,  its 
expenses  grew  rapidly  heavier.  She  did  not  ask  him  for 
the  money;  she  did  not  let  him  know  she  needed  it;  she 
got  along  without  it.  In  such  work  as  she  was  doing  it 
takes  a  vast  deal  of  thought,  of  planning  and  contriving, 
to  take  the  place  of  money.  She  did  that  necessary  think- 
ing. When  she  could  get  a  little  money,  she  spent  it  to 
amazing  advantage;  when  she  could  not,  she  went  on  with- 
out it.  Some  of  her  most  satisfying  results  came  through 
the  work  made  necessary  by  lack  of  money.  Very  power- 
ful, too,  was  the  influence  of  this  upon  her  character — in 

G9 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

developing  self-reliance  and  self-respect  which  come  only 
through  successful  independent  action. 

Now,  after  nearly  three  years  of  days  of  toil  that  was 
also  play,  since  she  loved  it,  she  saw,  but  a  short  distance 
ahead,  a  time  when  she  would  have  little  to  do  beyond 
taking  care  that  Jimmie  and  Bill  kept  the  grounds  up,  and 
that  Nanny  and  Mazie  and  Lizzie  did  their  work  prop- 
erly in  the  house.  There  would  be  minor  changes,  new 
features;  but  the  task  as  a  task  was  almost  done.  And, 
in  spite  of  Nanny's  opposition,  she  had  put  the  household 
on  a  systematic  basis,  so  that  with  a  little  daily  attention 
every  part  of  the  routine  went  smoothly,  each  servant 
doing  his  or  her  share  of  the  work  in  the  same  way  always 
and  at  the  same  time.  She  was  about  to  have  many  hours 
each  day  liberated — and  this,  in  a  quiet  place,  where  time 
refuses  to  take  wings,  but  insists  upon  being  definitely 
employed  every  moment  of  it. 

What  should  she  do  next?  She  had  grown  through  her 
work.  She  had  educated  her  originality  and  her  instinctive 
good  taste,  had  educated  them  so  intelligently  that  origi- 
nality had  not  lost  its  courage  nor  good  taste  its  breadth. 
It  had  not  "  settled  "  her  to  make  a  home,  as  it  "  settles  " 
a  human  or  lower  animal  that  acts  largely  from  instinct 
and  example  and  that  conceives  a  home  to  be  chiefly  a  place 
to  eat  and  sleep.  On  the  contrary,  it  had  unsettled  her 
the  more.  Her  character  had  not  changed.  Character 
never  does  change;  it  simply  develops,  responding  to  its 
environment  like  any  other  growing  thing.  Her  character 
had  developed. 

What  next?  What  should  she  do  to  occupy  hand  and 
brain,  now  grown  far  more  skillful?  What  should  she  do 
with  heart?  It  was  now  grown  far  bolder  in  its  dreams 
and  longings;  and  from  time  to  time  it  was  giving  ever 

70 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

more  imperious  notice  that  not  much  longer  would  it  be 
content  with  solicitude  about  a  child  and  makeshift  inter- 
est in  interior  decoration  and  landscape  gardening,  but 
would  demand  its  right  to  the  fullness  of  experience.  She 
temporized  with  these  ominous  threatenings.  She  hoped 
there  would  be  more  children — for  children  would  com- 
pel her.  From  Richard,  the  absorbed,  the  well  pleased 
with  his  "  settled,  womanly  wife,"  she  expected  nothing — 
and  wished  nothing.  The  routine  of  matrimony  had  be- 
come as  unconscious  as  breathing  or  winking.  Her  sense 
of  moral  obligation  to  him  was  also  automatic;  she  felt 
its  restraint  not  definitely  as  the  wife  of  a  certain  Richard 
Vaughan,  but  generally  as  a  woman  of  the  married  estate. 
She  knew  little  about  him  beyond  what  he  thought  of  her, 
of  marriage — and  that  knowledge  killed  all  further  inter- 
est in  him.  Ke  knew  nothing  whatever  about  her  beyond 
the  surface — her  physical  charm,  enhanced  by  good  taste 
in  dress.  The  comfort  of  his  home  and  its  order,  the  sur- 
prising success  of  her  "  tinkerings "  with  house  and 
grounds  made  small  impression  upon  him.  The  changes 
had  come  about  gradually;  and  he  was  absorbed  at  the 
Smoke  House.  Before  the  next  change  was  made  he  had 
got  used  to  the  one  preceding,  and  had  come  to  regard  it 
as  something  that  had  always  existed.  And  she  was  not 
one  of  those  who  see  to  it  that  they  get  full  credit  by  pre- 
ceding, accompanying,  and  following  every  act  with  blast 
of  trumpets.  She  did  things  because  she  liked  to  do  them, 
just  as  she  learned  because  she  liked  to  know.  She  worked 
without  friction  or  bluster.  Also,  having  dismissed  him 
from  her  inner,  her  real  life,  as  he  had  dismissed  her  from 
his,  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  talk  to  him  about  herself — 
and  her  work  was  herself. 

What   next?      She    often    asked    the    question    as    she 
71 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

paused  to  look  about  her  and  saw  so  short  a  distance  ahead 
the  end  of  her  task.  But  she  was  not  troubled  because 
she  could  not  answer  the  question.  She  waited  with  a 
certain  confident  tranquillity  until  an  answer  should  be 
imperative.  Meanwhile —  One  look  at  her  was  enough 
to  convince  that  her  lot  had  been  better  than  the  lot  of  the 
gay,  discontented  young  married  women  of  Wenona  society 
who  pitied  her  because  of  her  solitude.  They  did  not 
realize  that  not  only  were  they  unhappy,  but  also  were 
without  the  capacity  to  enjoy  happiness  if  it  should  offer, 
had  lost  the  capacity  as  utterly  as  a  deaf  man  the  capacity 
to  enjoy  music.  One  may  abuse  intellect  or  heart  with 
impunity  no  more  than  body.  Transgression  and  punish- 
ment are  simply  cause  and  effect.  There  were  times  when 
Courtney  wished  she  could  be  gayer;  but  at  least  she  was 
never  bored,  never  did  the  things  that  do  not  amuse  in 
the  doing,  and  have  an  aftermath  of  disgust.  She  had 
an  intense,  ever  intenser  desire  to  live  life  to  its  utter- 
most limits  of  interest  and  joy;  but  that  did  not  seem  to 
Iher  to  mean  changing  her  clothes  many  times  a  day,  rush- 
ing from  house  to  house,  from  party  to  party,  gossiping, 
eating  indigestible  sauces  and  desserts,  and  playing  bridge. 
She  knew  what  she  did  not  want.  She  did  not  know  what 
she  wanted — did  not  dare  inquire.  She  feared  life  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  cheat — not  altogether  a  cheat,  not  by  any 
means — but  still  a  raiser  of  longings  it  had  no  way  to  sat- 
isfy, of  expectations  it  had  no  way  to  fulfill. 

She  fancied  herself  little  changed  since  her  marriage. 
And  she  was  hardly  changed  at  all  physically.  But  in 
mind  she  was  a  woman  full  grown — a  rarity  indeed  in  our 
civilization  which  tends  to  make  odalisques  and  parasites 
out  of  the  women  it  does  not  crush  under  toil.  She  was 
ready  for  a  strong  part  in  life,  should  opportunity  offer. 

72 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Meanwhile,  she  was  living  her  placid  routine  with  the 
originality  and  interest  with  which  intelligence  can  invest 
the  humblest,  the  most  usual  acts. 

She  wrote  in  her  commonplace  book  this   sentence: 
"  Love  is  a  tune  we  whistle  in  the  dark  of  our  alone- 
ness  to  keep  up  our  courage." 


In  Winchie's  fourth  year,  in  the  spring,  Judge  Bene- 
dict had  an  illness  so  severe  that  Courtney  went  to  the 
farm,  taking  Winchie  with  her  to  stay  until  the  crisis 
passed.  It  was  nearly  three  weeks  before  decision  for  life 
was  rendered  and  she  could  return  home. 

She  had  been  gone  during  what  ought  to  have  been 
her  busiest  season.  She  rather  expected  to  find  the  place 
in  some  confusion.  Instead,  so  far  advanced  toward  com- 
pletion were  her  plans,  and  so  thoroughly  had  she  trained 
Jimmie  and  his  son  Bill  and  the  house  servants,  everything 
was  well  under  way.  All  her  instructions,  both  those  given 
before  she  left  and  those  written  to  Jimmie  from  her 
father's — had  been  carried  out  exactly.  They  had  worked 
as  hard  as  if  she  had  been  there,  had  done  it  because  they 
loved  her — for  only  love  can  arouse  and  inspire  the  slug- 
gish energies  of  those  who  serve.  The  lawns  were  trim 
and  freshly  green,  the  walks  were  covered  with  new  tan- 
bark  ;  and  its  red  brown  harmonized  with  the  colors  of  lawn 
and  trees  as  its  odor  harmonized  with  the  odors  from  the 
grass  and  the  foliage,  from  the  brilliant  flowers  in  great 
beds  at  either  side  of  the  house.  All  the  windows  were  gay 
with  boxes  of  blooming  plants.  Railings  of  verandas  and 
balconies  were  draped  with  mats  of  budding  creepers. 
The  gardens — the  beds  in  the  lawns  and  along  the  veran- 
das— the  edges  of  walks  and  drives — the  thickets  and 

73 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

trellises — all  were  blossoming  and  odorous.  Lovely  con- 
trasts of  light  and  shade,  delicious  perfumes,  birds  flash- 
ing to  and  fro,  singing  in  the  trees  and  bushes — the 
Vaughan  place  illustrated  what  Pope  meant  when  he  called 
landscape  gardening  nature  plus  a  soul.  The  soul  that 
had  given  form  to  nature's  color  and  perfume  was  Court- 
ney's. 

As  the  carriage  drove  down  the  deeply  shaded  main 
drive  from  highway  to  drive-front  porch,  she  gazed  round 
with  a  creator's  pride  and  joy  and  love.  She  had  two 
children — Winchie  and  this  lovely  place.  All  the  serv- 
ants gathered  to  welcome  her — all  except  old  Nanny,  who 
had  never  forgiven  and  who  resented  the  changes  as  sacri- 
lege. They  watched  eagerly  for  signs  of  approval.  Her 
expression,  as  she  looked  at  what  they  had  done,  then  at 
them,  the  unsteady  voice  in  which  she  said  "  Beautiful — 
beautiful "  went  straight  to  their  hearts.  Within  the  house, 
everywhere  open  wide  to  June's  enchantment,  there  was 
evidence  of  the  same  creative  impulse — order  without  stiff- 
ness, art  without  any  trace  of  art's  labor. 

Winchie  would  go  straightway  to  look  at  his  rabbits; 
she  went  upstairs  alone  to  bathe  and  change  after  the 
dust}'  journey,  telling  Lizzie  to  bring  him  as  soon  as  he 
had  satisfied  himself  that  his  rabbits  were  all  right.  The 
door  of  the  bedroom  immediately  across  the  hall  from  hers 
stood  open,  and  with  the  thorough  housekeeper's  instinct 
she  glanced  in.  It  was  the  room  Dick  usually  occupied. 
Instead  of  Dick's  belongings  she  saw,  spread  about,  toilet 
articles  and  clothing  strange  to  her.  She  entered.  On  the 
bureau  she  instantly  noted  a  pair  of  tasteful  silver  and 
ebony  brushes ;  the  monogram  was  "  B.  G."  She  opened 
a  drawer;  neckties,  more  attractive  than  any  she  had  ever 
seen,  filled  two  compartments  to  overflowing  with  their 

74 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

patterned  silks  and  linens.  In  the  third  compartment  sev- 
eral dozen  fine  handkerchiefs;  the  monogram  on  them  was 
again  "  B.  G." 

She  opened  the  nearest  closet.  On  forms  hung  perhaps 
a  dozen  coats;  she  recognized  the  cut  and  materials  as 
foreign.  Beneath  was  a  long  row  of  boots,  shoes,  pumps, 
slippers,  all  of  the  kind  a  woman,  of  taste  at  once  knows 
and  appreciates.  As  she  was  closing  the  door  there  swung 
out  from  the  hook  high  up  a  suit  of  beautiful  striped  linen 
pajamas  monogramed  in  gray  and  faintly  perfumed  with 
lavendar.  She  v/ent  on  into  the  adjoining  front  room — the 
room  Dick  had  used  as  a  study.  Obviously,  he  no  longer 
used  it.  The  books  of  fiction  and  poetry — the  big  silver 
cigarette  box — the  gaudily  trimmed  silk  dressing  gown 
flung  carelessly  on  a  chair — none  of  these  belonged  to  him 
or  suggested  his  studious  and  rather  Spartan  temperament. 

In  the  hall  she  saw  Lizzie  just  come  with  Winchie. 
"  Who's  in  these  rooms  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Mr.  Gallatin,"  replied  Lizzie.  "  Mr.  Vaughan  put 
him  in  here  and  moved  down  to  the  suite  at  the  Smoke 
House." 

Lizzie's  tone  indicated  that  she  was  assuming  Courtney 
knew  all  about  Mr.  Gallatin.  That  tone  put  her  on  guard. 
"  When  did  he  come  ?  "  asked  she,  feeling  her  way. 

"  Two  weeks  ago  yesterday.  He's  very  nice.  He's  as 
particular  as  you  about  his  things,  but  it's  a  pleasure  to 
look  after  them." 

Had  Richard  forgotten  to  tell  her  he  expected  this  Mr. 
Gallatin?  Or  had  she,  fallen  long  since  into  his  absent- 
minded  habit,  failed  to  hear  as  he  told  her?  Was  it  a 
chance  visit  from  some  college  or  scientific  acquaintance? 
The  character  of  the  stranger's  installation — the  quantity 
of  clothing — did  not  speak  for  a  brief  chance  visit.  The 

75 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

quality  of  the  clothing,  the  taste,  the  care,  the  worldly  in- 
terest and  knowledge  it  suggested,  were  all  against  the 
idea  of  "  B.  G.'s  "  being  a  devotee  of  science.  At  least, 
if  there  were  such  scientists,  this  was  the  first  she  had 
known  of  it.  After  she  had  changed  for  the  evening,  and 
had  given  Winchie  his  supper  and  sent  him  to  bed,  she 
went  into  the  stranger's  quarters  again.  These  personal 
belongings  of  his  attracted  her;  they  so  clearly  revealed 
taste  and  refinement,  a  refinement  unusual  in  a  man;  they 
so  strongly  hinted  a  personality  more  in  sympathy  with 
her  own  passionate  joy  in  life  than  with  Richard's  intel- 
lectual abstractions.  In  the  early  days  of  their  married  life 
Richard  had  been  rather  particular  about  himself;  but  he 
had  got  more  and  more  indifferent,  no  longer  shaved  every 
day,  was  at  times  distinctly  slovenly.  "  B.  G.  is  a  bach- 
elor/' thought  she.  "  Married  men — except  those  that  are 
at  heart  bachelors — soon  lose  this  sort  of  gloss."  Usually 
she  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  anything  concerning 
•Richard.  But  this  man  interested  her. 

She  was  in  the  sitting  room  downstairs,  playing  and 
singing  in  an  undertone  when  Richard  came.  "  Hello," 
said  he.  And  he  kissed  the  cheek  she  turned  to  a  reachable 
angle.  His  manner  was  as  casual  as  hers.  It  was  their 
habitual  manner,  and  long  had  been.  The  difference  be- 
tween his  habit  and  hers  was  that  his  yielded  from  time  to 
time  to  the  intermittent  gusts  of  desire,  while  hers  remained 
always  tranquilly  cool.  "  Your  father's  quite  all  right 
again?  "  was  his  careless  first  question. 
"  I  hope  so.  I  think  so." 

He  was  not  merely  looking  at  her  now,  he  was  seeing 
her.  His  eyes  lighted  up  and  into  his  voice  came  the  woo- 
ing note.  "  Glad  you've  not  dropped  into  my  sloppy  ways/' 
said  he.  He  was  admiring  her  pale-green  chiffon  dress 

76 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

that  left  the  slender  column  of  her  throat  bare  and  her 
forearms,  but  almost  concealed  her  shoulders.  "  Gallatin 
won't  think  we're  altogether  barbarians  here.  He  dresses 
for  supper.  He's  at  it  now." 

His  eyes  showed  that  he  was  not  thinking  at  all  of 
Gallatin,  but  of  her — thoughts  which  did  not  leave  her  en- 
tirely indifferent,  but  gave  her  an  unwonted  sense  of  vague 
distaste,  after  her  long  absence  and  complete  freedom. 
As  he  moved  toward  her  she  said:  "There's  time  for  you 
to  dress.  And  you  need  a  shave  badly.  Is  he  from  the 
East?  " 

"  From  Philadelphia  by  way  of  Pittsburg.  He's  been 
doing  a  little  chemistry  in  his  amateurish  way  in  the  mills 
there.  I'd  not  have  him  about  if  I  didn't  need  his  money." 

Dick  was  coming  on  toward  her  again.  "  The  bell  will 
ring  in  ten  minutes,"  she  reminded  him.  Perhaps  through 
perverseness,  the  impulse  to  evade  was  a  little  stronger. 

But  he  came,  put  his  arms  round  her,  kissed  her  again, 
this  time  with  undivided  attention.  She  lost  the  impulse 
to  evade,  submitted,  smiled  amicably,  and,  to  extricate  her- 
self, rose.  The  lines  of  her  dress  brought  out  the  perfec- 
tion of  her  small,  slim  figure;  its  color  harmonized  with 
her  deep-sea  eyes  and  with  the  delicate  bronze  of  her  skin. 
"  What  a  beauty  you  are ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  No  wonder 
I'm  so  proud  of  you." 

Usually  she  was  indifferent,  without  being  conscious  of 
it ;  this  evening  of  her  return  from  freedom  to  married  life 
she  felt  her  indifference.  She  said  coldly,  "  If  you're  going 
to  dress " 

"  A    shave'll    be    enough,"    protested    Dick.       "  Your 
finery '11  more  than  make  up  for  my  absence  of  it.     Bach- 
elors like  Gallatin  have  to  sleek  themselves  up.     They've 
still  got  their  brides  to  win." 
6  77 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

"  You'll  be  late." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  extra  civil  to  Gallatin.  He's  likely 
to  get  bored  in  this  quiet  place  after  a  few  months.  He's 
rather  gay,  I  imagine.  At  least  he  used  to  be.  And  I  don't 
want  him  to  pull  out." 

"  After  a  few  months,"  repeated  Courtney,  interested. 
"  Why,  how  long  is  he  to  stay  ?  " 

"  A  year  or  so — perhaps  longer." 

"  Here  in  the  house !  " 

"  I  can't  put  him  down  at  the  laboratory,  so  near  my 
secrets.  I'm  not  going  to  let  him  in  on  everything.  That's 
part  of  our  bargain.  We're  partners,  you  understand." 

"  Here  in  the  house !  "  exclaimed  Courtney  again.  The 
very  idea  of  an  outsider  as  spectator  at  what  was  going 
on  there  made  her  acutely  conscious  of  it,  all  in  an  in- 
stant. 

"  Oh,  you'll  like  him — at  least,  you  must  for  my  sake. 
He  doesn't  amount  to  much,  but  he's  agreeable — well  man- 
nered— good  family — entertaining  in  a  light  way." 

"  There  goes  the  bell." 

Dick  rushed  away  to  shave.  He  had  been  gone  but  a 
few  moments  when  Courtney  was  roused  from  her  agitated 
reverie  by  the  sense  of  some  one  in  the  room.  Near  the 
threshold  stood  the  newcomer,  who  was  to  be  a  factor  in 
her  intimate  life,  a  spectator  of  it,  whether  she  willed  or 
no,  for  "  a  year  or  so — perhaps  longer."  He  was  a  blond 
young  man,  fair  and  smooth  of  skin,  his  hair  almost  golden. 
He  certainly  was  not  handsome;  only  his  coloring  and  a 
pair  of  frank  gray  eyes  saved  him  from  downright  home- 
liness. As  their  eyes  met,  his  heavy,  conventional  face  was 
suddenly  transformed  by  as  charming  a  smile  as  she  had 
ever  seen.  He  was  of  about  the  medium  height,  his  figure 
neither  powerful  nor  weak.  He  wore  a  dinner  suit  of  dark 

78 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

gray,  fashionably  draped  upon  him,  pumps,  gray  socks 
that  matched  his  gray  silk  tie,  a  plaited  French  shirt,  an 
unusually  tall,  perfectly  fitting  collar.  If  he  had  not  been 
so  well  and  so  tastefuly  dressed,  he  would  have  attracted 
no  attention  anywhere — unless  he  had  smiled.  That  smile 
meant  a  frank  nature,  a  kind  and  generous  heart — rarities 
to  make  their  possessor  distinguished  in  whatever  company. 

Courtney,  with  woman's  swift  grasp  of  surface  details, 
noted  all  this  and  more  while  she  was  advancing  with  ex- 
tended hand  and  saying,  "  Mr.  Gallatin,  is  it  not?  " 

He  was  obviously  confused  and  embarrassed.  Her  natu- 
ral, self-unconscious  manner  encouraged  him  candidly  to 
explain.  "  I  feel  very  shy,"  said  he,  speaking  with  a  strong 
Eastern  accent,  "  and  very  guilty.  Shy  because,  before  I 
came,  I  had  somehow  got  the  impression  Vaughan  was  not 
married — and  that  we  were  to  keep  bachelor  hall.  I  was 
astonished  to  find  he  had  a  wife."  His  eyes  added  with- 
out impertinence  that  he  was  amazed  and  dazzled  now  that 
he  saw  the  wife.  "  I  feel  guilty,"  he  went  on,  "  because  I 
seem  to  be  thrusting  myself  in  upon  you.  But  Vaughan 
assured  me  I'd  not  be  intruding." 

"  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  about  that,"  said  she. 
She  liked  his  accent;  it  was  pleasant  as  a  novelty,  and 
rather  amusing.  She  liked  his  manners.  They  were  of 
the  best  type  of  conventional  manners,  the  type  affected 
by  fashionable  people  everywhere,  the  type  that  is  excelled 
only  by  the  kind  of  manners  of  which  it  is  an  artful  and 
insincere  imitation — the  simple  manners  of  those  rare  self- 
unconscious  people  who  have  the  courage — or,  rather,  the 
lack  of  fear — to  be  natural  and  spontaneous.  "  We'll  not 
wait  for  Richard,"  she  said,  as  the  supper  bell  rang.  "  He's 
got  a  great  deal  to  do  before  he  can  come." 

She  had  just  finished  the  sentence  when  he  entered,  ex- 
79 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

actly  as  he  was  when  he  went  out.     "  I  forgot  I'd  taken  all 
my  razors  down  to  the  laboratory/'  he  explained. 

During  supper  he  and  Gallatin  talked  chemistry;  that 
is,  he  talked  and  Gallatin  listened — listened  and  ate. 
Courtney  noted — with  increased  liking  for  him — that  he 
had  a  vigorous  appetite  and  that  he  liked  the  things  they 
had  to  eat.  But  her  thoughts  soon  wandered  away  to 
her  gardening,  to  retouching  her  plans  for  bringing  the 
grounds  a  little  nearer  her  ideal  than  they  had  been  the 
summer  before.  When  the  men  lighted  cigars,  she  went 
to  the  veranda  to  stroll  up  and  down  in  the  moonlight.  She 
forgot  everything  unpleasant  in  the  delight  of  being  home 
again.  As  she  looked  about  her,  her  heart  was  singing 
the  nightingale's  song.  She  was  startled — and  her  heart's 
song  was  stopped — by  the  newcomer's  voice.  "  Vaughan's 
gone  to  the  library,"  said  Gallatin.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I 
walk  with  you?  " 

She  did  mind  very  much  indeed.  She  had  somehow 
lost  interest  in  him  as  soon  as  he  ceased  to  be  the  mystery 
B.  G.  She  liked  him  well  enough,  admired  his  manners, 
his  really  delicate  tact  in  what  must  have  been  for  him  an 
extremely  difficult  position.  But  she  had  got  the  impres- 
sion that  Dick  was  right  in  estimating  him  as  a  "  don't- 
amount- to-much."  And  just  now  he  was  distinctly  a  kill- 
joy. However,  she  acquiesced  courteously,  though  with, 
no  unnecessary  cordiality.  She  felt  that  now  was  the  time 
to  get  him  in  the  habit  of  respecting  her  privacy;  she  could 
establish  a  barrier  now,  where  an  attempt  to  establish  it 
later  on  would  offend  him.  At  best,  the  barrier  would  be 
a  poor  enough  makeshift;  he  would  be  bound  to  see,  to 
make  her  feel  uncomfortable  about  things  she  had  been  able 
to  keep  unconscious  of  or  indifferent  to.  Still,  she  was  far 
too  generous  to  blame  him. 

80 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Do  you  have  much  spare  time?  "  she  asked,  her  man- 
ner more  cordial  than  if  she  had  not  been  wishing  him  out 
of  the  house. 

"  A  great  deal.  Vaughan  realizes  I'm  only  an  ama- 
teur." 

"  I'll  take  you  over  to  the  club  and  introduce  you. 
You'll  find  some  very  agreeable  people." 

"  Thank  you.  It  has  been  rather  dull  these  two  weeks 
— especially  of  evenings." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  had  the  courage  to  come." 

"  I  had  to,"  said  he,  in  the  curt  way  in  which  a  young 
man  gives  himself  the  pleasure  of  hinting  a  secret  he  can- 
not with  good  taste  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  telling. 

She  glanced  across  the  lake  at  the  twinkling  lamps  of 
the  town.  "  The  women  over  there  will  fill  every  minute 
you  give  them,"  said  she.  "  You  see,  most  of  our  men  are 
busy  all  day  and  tired  in  the  evening.  You'll  be  a  lion." 

"  That  sounds  attractive.  I'm  amazed  at  the  West.  I 
had  no  idea  civilization  was  so  advanced." 

The  implied  condescension  in  this  amused  her.  But 
she  merely  said:  "  Oh,  I  guess  the  same  sort  of  people  are 
much  alike  the  world  over." 

The  conversation  languished  through  a  to  her  tiresome 
discussion  of  differences  of  accent,  dress,  manners,  and  such 
trifles  until  he  happened  to  say:  "  This  place  of  yours  here 
was  a  revelation  to  me.  I've  been  talking  to  Vaughan 
abovit  it — admiring  it.  He  tells  me  his  grandfather's  re- 
sponsible for  it.  He  must  have  been  an  extraordinary 
Plan." 

"  He  was,"  said  Courtney,  in  a  queer  voice.  She  glanced 
o^t  over  her  creation  and  the  blood  burned  in  her  cheeks. 

"  He'd  certainly  be  proud  of  the  way  you  keep  it  up." 

Her  sense  of  humor  had  come  to  the  rescue;  besides, 
81 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

vanity  was  not  a  dominating  emotion  with  her  who  had  too 
much  else  to  think  about  to  have  much  time  for  thought  of 
self.  "  I'm  fond  of  gardening/'  was  her  placid  noncom- 
mittal reply  to  his  compliment. 

"  Yes,  Vaughan's  grandfather  must  have  been  n  won- 
der," Gallatin  went  on  reflectively.  He  had  paused,  was 
leaning  on  the  rail,  looking  out  over  the  lawns  and  gar- 
dens. "  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you — if  you'll  not  tell 
your  husband — that  I'm  a  chemist  only  by  profession,  with 
landscape  gardening  as  my  real  passion." 

Courtney  glanced  at  him  with  interested  eyes. 

"  I  know  a  little  something  about  it,"  he  continued. 
"  I  learned  long  ago  in  a  general  way  that  a  personality 
is  always  revealed  in  any  work,  and  I  at  once  looked  for 
the  personality  in  this  place.  That  old  man  must  have  been 
an  artist.  ...  I  can't  reconcile  these  grounds  with  the  por- 
trait of  him  in  the  library." 

Courtney  was  smiling  to  herself.  A  thrill  of  pride  and 
pleasure  was  running  through  her.  She  began  to  like  Basil 
Gallatin,  to  feel  that  he  was  by  no  means  commonplace,  but 
a  man  of  breadth  and  artistic  instinct,  something  at  least 
of  the  man  of  the  big  world,  not  merely  the  man  of  the 
little  world  of  well-cut  manners  and  clothes. 

"  That  portrait  is  of  a  stern,  narrow  man — strong  but 
conventional,"  he  went  on,  confirming  her  more  sympathetic 
judgment  of  him.  "  This  place — the  house  as  well  as  the 
grounds — shows  a  very  different  individuality.  It's  femi- 
nine and  sensuous  and  poetical.  Yes,  it's  distinctly  femi- 
nine— and  delightfully  disdainful  of  the  conventional — of 
everything  and  anything  '  cut  and  dried.'  I  don't  mean 
the  details — the  things  you're  probably  responsible  for — 
and  they're  very  charming.  But  I  mean  the  whole  concep- 
tion— so  free,  so  daring,  and  so  lovely.  Yet  Vaughan  tells 

82 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

me  that  the  old  gentleman  made  the  plans  himself  and  su- 
perintended their  carrying  out.  It's  very  curious.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  it." 

"  You're  not  interested  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  Your  tone.  I  suppose  a  man  is  tedious  when  he  gets 
on  his  hobby.  I  noticed  you  were  bored  when  we  were 
talking  chemistry  at  supper." 

"  I  wasn't  bored.     I  simply  wasn't  listening." 

"  You  don't  like  chemistry?  " 

"  I  did.  But  my  enthusiasm  cooled  as  I  got  interested 
in  other  things." 

Again  the  conversation  languished.  She  suspected  that 
his  opinion  of  her  was  rapidly  declining.  But  some 
instinct  withheld  her  from  making  any  effort  whatever 
to  rehabilitate  herself.  Finally  he  said:  "Well,  I  guess 
I've  disturbed  you  long  enough.  I'll  go  to  my  room  and 
read." 

"  I'm  going  up  myself  after  I've  had  a  little  talk  with 
Nanny  about  the  house." 

As  soon  as  he  disappeared,  she  dismissed  him  from  mind 
with  a  few  pleasant  and  friendly  thoughts — "  he  may  not 
have  any  great  amount  of  brains  or  force,  but  he  certainly 
has  good  taste.  He  will  be  a  distinct  addition."  When 
she  ascended  to  her  sitting  room,  perhaps  an  hour  later,  she 
halted  on  the  threshold,  coloring  with  anger.  Dick  was 
seated  at  her  center  table  reading  a  newspaper;  Gallatin 
was  inspecting  the  books  in  one  of  her  cases.  Dick  saw 
her  and  said:  "  Come  in.  Don't  mind  us." 

Courtney,  struggling  against  her  anger  at  this  climax 
to  the  impudent  intrusion  upon  her  privacy,  remained  upon 
the  threshold. 

83 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Dick's  eyes  had  dropped  to  his  paper.  "  Gallatin,"  he 
went  on,  "was  complaining  that  the  books  in  the  library 
were  too  old  and  solemn.  So  I  brought  him  here.  I  knew 
you'd  laid  in  a  stock  of  the  frivolous  kinds  that  grandfather 
wouldn't  have  tolerated.  Finding  what  you  want,  old 
man  ?  " 

When  Dick's  speaking  warned  him  that  Courtney  had 
come,  Gallatin  had  startled  guiltily  and  had  hastily  put 
away  the  book  he  was  examining.  But  he  didn't  turn 
round  until  Richard  directly  addressed  him.  His  face  was 
red  and  his  eyes  were  down.  "  I  feel  sleepy,"  said  he 
awkwardly.  "  I'll  look  again  some  other  time  if  Mrs. 
Vaughan  will  let  me." 

"  Certainly/'  said  Courtney,  cold  as  a  flower  blooming 
in  the  heart  of  a  block  of  ice. 

The  case  into  which  Gallatin  had  been  delving  was 
filled  with  works  on  landscape  gardening  and  interior  deco- 
ration— modern  works.  As  he  almost  stumbled  from  the 
room  he  cast  a  further  glance  round  at  the  walls — walls  cov- 
ered with  the  original  plans,  sketches,  and  paintings  Court- 
ney had  made  for  her  revolution  in  house  and  grounds — 
very  modern-looking  drawings  all,  and  unmistakably  femi- 
nine. She  knew  that  the  newcomer  had  her  secret — all 
of  it — not  merely  the  secret  of  her  authorship,  but  also, 
through  it,  the  secret  of  this  loveless  married  life  in  which 
the  husband  had  not  the  remotest  idea  who  his  wife  wss 
or  what  she  had  done.  In  passing  her  on  his  way  out, 
Gallatin  visibly  shrank  and  grew  as  white  as  he  had  been 
red.  She  went  to  the  window  to  compose  herself,  for  her 
blood  was  boiling  in  the  greatest  rage  of  her  life. 

Richard  went  to  close  the  door  after  Gallatin,  then 
turned  on  her.  "  My  dear,"  said  he  in  his  "  grandfather  " 
tone,  which  sometimes  amused  and  sometimes  angered  her, 

84 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  you  are  so  cold  by  nature  that  you  don't  realize  it,  but 
you  were  almost  insulting  to  Gallatin." 

"  I  hope  so !  "  cried  she,  facing  him.  "  How  dared 
you  bring  him  in  here  without  my  permission?  There  are 
not  many  women  who  would  have  accepted  quietly  your 
bringing  him  to  this  house  to  live  without  a  word  to  me. 
I  wish  you  to  understand  you  cannot  thrust  him  upon  my 
privacy.  I  don't  allow  anyone  in  this  room  without  my 
consent.  It  must  not  occur  again." 

"  Now — now — my  dear,"  said  Dick  soothingly.  "  All 
that  is  very  unreasonable.  Of  course,  I  have  the  right  to 
do  as  I  please  in  my  own  house,  and  you're  too  good  and 
too  sensible  a  wife  to  dispute  it." 

"I  do  dispute  it!"  she  cried,  her  bosom  heaving. 
"  This  room  is — me  I  " 

"  What  a  tempest  in  a  teapot !  Child,  what  has  made 
you  take  such  a  sudden  dislike  to  him — and  so  violent?  He 
isn't  worth  it — an  amiable,  well-meaning,  commonplace 
chap.  Really,  you  mustn't  act  this  way.  I've  told  you  I 
need  him,  and  you  must  be  polite  to  him." 

"  The  impertinent,  prying " 

"  I  brought  him  here,  Courtney,"  lie  interrupted,  mag- 
isterially. "  And  I  repeat,  I  had  the  right  to  do  so." 

Like  most  people  of  sweet  and  even  temperament,  she 
lost  all  control  of  herself  in  this  unprecedented  rage,  where 
those  in  the  habit  of  raging  learn  a  sort  of  etiquette  of  bad 
temper.  "  You  had  not  the  right !  "  she  declared,  her  eyes 
blazing  into  his.  "  And  if  you  ever  do  such  a  thing  again, 
I'll  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  remain  here.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"  I  do  not  quarrel,"  said  Richard  with  gentle  superior- 
ity, "  especially  not  with  women — with  my  wife." 

"And  why  not?  You  call  it  chivalry.  I  call  it  con- 
85 


tempt.  And  I  detest  it.  If  you  could  appreciate  how  ab- 
surd you  are,  with  your  antiquated  notions  of  superior  and 
inferior  sex,  of  rights  and  duties,  and  all  such  nonsense !  " 

Richard  was  in  full  armor  of  masculine  patience  against 
feminine  folly.  "  You  are  beside  yourself,  my  dear.  I'll 
leave  you  until  you  are  calm  and  courteous."  And  he  added, 
as  if  he  were  meting  out  severe  but  just  punishment,  "  I 
shall  occupy  the  spare  room." 

Courtney  gave  a  strange  laugh.  He  turned  away,  went 
into  her  bedroom.  Presently  he  reappeared  exclaiming: 
"  Why,  where  are  my  pajamas?  I  told  Lizzie  to  put  them 
in  there." 

Courtney's  smile  was  of  the  same  quality  of  strange- 
ness as  her  laugh  of  the  moment  before.  "  They  are  in  the 
spare  room,"  said  she.  "  I  put  them  there  before  I  came 
in  here." 

He  looked  puzzled,  vaguely  discomfited.  "  Oh — very 
well."  He  glanced  inquiringly  at  her,  decided  against  the 
trivial  question  he  had  been  about  to  ask.  "  Good  night." 
He  was  again  puzzled  when  what  he  heard  about  the  loca- 
tion of  the  pajamas  was  recalled  and  made  vivid  by  the 
sight  of  them  on  the  turned-down  bed  in  the  spare  room. 
But  for  an  instant  only.  He  dismissed  the  trifle  and  went 
to  bed  and  to  sleep.  Husbands  do  not  bother  their  heads 
about  the  petty  feminine  eccentricities  of  wives.  The  mys- 
tery of  these  transposed  pajamas  was  too  petty  to  detain  a 
masculine  mind. 


VI 

SHE  did  not  go  down  to  breakfast  next  morning  until 
Richard  and  his  guest  would  surely  be  gone.  Her  anger 
against  the  guest  had  evaporated  because  it  was  clearly 
unjust.  Her  anger  against  Richard  was  subsiding  because 
it  was  clearly  futile — and  also  because  she  hadn't  it  in  her 
to  foster  harsh  feeling.  But  there  remained  a  dislike  and 
dread  of  Gallatin  because  he  had  her  secret.  She  could 
not  think  with  composure  of  facing  him,  intolerably  her 
partner  in  a  secret  she  was  ashamed  of,  was  hiding  from 
her  husband,  was  trying  to  hide  from  herself.  She  would 
be  unable  to  look  at  him,  to  remember  his  existence  even, 
without  at  the  same  time  having  it  thrust  at  her  that  her 
married  life  was  a  sham,  a  hypocrisy. 

Half  an  hour  before  dinner  Richard  came  to  her  in  the 
big  greenhouse  she  had  built  back  of  the  library.  As  the 
day  was  warm,  all  its  doors  and  sashes  were  open.  Rich- 
ard sent  Jimmie's  son  Bill  away  and  said  with  agitated 
abruptness :  "  Courtney,  Gallatin  seems  determined  to  take 
rooms  over  at  the  hotel." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  replied  she.  "  It's  much  better." 
She  had  not  paused  in  her  delicate  task  of  extricating  plants 
from  their  winter  bed  and  arranging  them  in  a  basket  for 
taking  into  the  garden. 

"  But  it's  the  first  step  toward  going  away.  He'll 
never  put  up  with  the  hotel's  discomforts."  Her  indiffer- 
ence, her  inattention  made  him  impatient.  "  My  dear, 
you  don't  understand.  I  need  him.  I've  branched  out  on 
the  strength  of  the  capital  he's  supplying  and  has  prom- 

87 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

ised  to  supply.  If  he  leaves,  I'll  be  in  a  hole.  We'll  have 
to  cut  down  in  every  direction,  for  I  simply  can't  abandon 
my  new  plans." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  said  Courtney.  She  had  abruptly 
stopped  work,  was  leaning  against  the  frame  facing  him. 
"  I  want  him  out  of  the  house." 

Dick  took  the  tone  of  gentle,  forbearing  remonstrance. 
"  It's  too  late  to  change  him  to  the  Smoke  House.  He 
feels  your  dislike — is  eager  to  get  away.  If  there  were 
any  ground  for  dislike,  I'd  say  nothing.  As  it  is,  I —  I 
don't  like  to  assert  authority,  but  your  frivolous  whimsical- 
ity makes  it  necessary.  I  want  you  at  once  to  convince 
him  that  you  wish  him  to  stay." 

"  But  I  don't."  Her  voice  showed  that  those  brief 
words  were  all  she  could  trust  to  it. 

"  You  do,  since  I  wish  it." 

"  Why  should  I  consider  what  you  wish  ?  When  have 
you  considered  what  I  wish  ?  " 

"  When  have  I  been  inconsiderate  of  what  was  for 
your  good?  " 

She  was  silent — silenced,  he  thought.  His  handsome 
face  and  his  voice  were  gentle;  but  underneath  there  was 
sternness  in  both  as  he  said :  "  You'll  not  oppose  me  in  this. 
It'd  be  a  very  severe  strain  upon  my  love  for  you,  if  I 
found  you  so  contemptuous  of  my  interests.  I'm  sure 
you'll  not  risk  that  strain." 

She  saw  into  what  an  impossible  position  her  anger 
had  hurried  her.  Usually  women,  through  playing  upon 
the  husband's  passions  and  weaknesses  generally,  get 
enough  control  over  him  to  be  able  to  maintain — with  only 
an  occasional  slight  lapse — the  pleasant  fiction  that  they 
are  of  full  human  rank.  They  take  care  to  avoid  such 
crises  as  was  this.  Courtney,  by  long  keeping  away  from 

88 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  bars  of  her  cage,  had  been  lured  into  believing  her  pre- 
tense that  they  were  not  there.  She  now  found  herself 
bleeding  and  exhausted  against  them.  "  Very  well,"  said 
she,  after  a  moment's  silence.  It  had  taken  her  quick  mind 
only  a  moment  to  see  the  alternatives — submission  or  a 
clash  in  which  she  could  not  but  be  defeated.  "  I'll  try 
to  get  him  to  stay."  Her  voice  was  low  and  broken,  but 
not  from  anger.  Deeper  than  the  sense  of  Richard's 
tyranny  burned  the  humiliating  sense  of  her  servitude. 
In  fact,  her  own  plight  so  mortified  her  that  she  had  no 
emotional  capacity  for  raging  against  him  as  the  author  of 
it.  She  felt,  as  always  in  these  sex  conflicts,  that  the  fault 
was  not  his,  but  fate's;  he  was  simply  playing  his  part  as 
man,  she  her  part  as  woman. 

"  That's  a  good  girl,"  cried  her  approving  husband, 
kissing  her  brow.  It  did  not  occur  to  him,  the  deep-down 
reason  of  sordidness  that  enabled  him  to  compel;  but  she 
could  think  of  nothing  else.  "  Be  sweet  to  him,"  Dick 
went  on,  in  an  amiable,  petting  tone.  "  And  you  may  rest 
assured,  dear,  I'll  get  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  don't 
like  intruders  into  our  happiness  any  more  than  you  do." 

Her  cheeks  flushed,  and  she  turned  again  to  the  frame, 
to  resume  her  digging.  Her  whole  body  to  her  finger  tips 
was  in  a  tremor. 

Through  dinner  she  was  silent  and  cold;  Gallatin  hardly 
lifted  his  gaze  from  his  plate.  Whenever  Richard  could 
catch  her  eye,  he  frowned  and  glanced  significantly  at 
Gallatin.  But  her  eyes  met  his  hints  with  a  vacant  look 
that  made  him  twitch  in  his  chair  with  nervousness  and 
exasperation.  As  soon  as  Gallatin  in  politeness  could,  he 
excused  himself  and  left  the  family  of  three  alone. 

Richard,  unmindful  of  Winchie,  burst  out,  "  What's  the 
meaning  of  this?  " 

89 


"  You  must  let  me  humble  myself  in  ray  own  way/'  said 
Courtney  coldly.  "  Come,  Whichie."  And  the  two  went 
out  on  the  lawn. 

As  Gallatin  a  few  minutes  later  issued  from  the  front 
door  with  Richard,  she  called :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Gallatin,  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  a  moment." 

He  halted.  The  color  flared  into  his  face.  Richard 
said,  "  I'll  go  on.  You  needn't  hurry,"  and  strode  along 
the  path  into  the  eastern  shrubbery.  Gallatin  hesitatingly 
crossed  the  grass.  Winchie,  who  had  on  first  sight  taken 
an  instinctive  dislike  to  him,  held  a  fold  of  Courtney's 
walking  skirt  and  glowered  like  a  small  but  very  fierce 
storm. 

"  Go  to  the  veranda,  Winchie,"  said  his  mother. 

The  boy  released  his  hold  and  reluctantly  obeyed. 
Gallatin  stood  before  her  like  a  prisoner  arraigned  for  sen- 
tence. "  Richard  tells  me  you're  talking  of  moving  to  the 
hotel  over  in  town,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to-morrow." 

"  Because  you  feel  I  want  you  out  of  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  think  a  man  in  my  position  couldn't  help  being  an 
intruder." 

"  I  want  you  to  stay." 

His  fair  skin  paled.  "  I  thank  you,"  said  he,  "  but  I 
must  go." 

"  I  want  you  to  stay.     I  ask  you  to  stay." 

"  That's  very  kind.  I  appreciate  it.  But  I  really 
must  go." 

"  I  did  wish  you  to  go.  But  now  I  sincerely  wish  you 
to  stay." 

Their  eyes  met.  She  was  as  pale  as  her  bronze  com- 
plexion permitted.  She  went  on,  her  deep,  clear  voice 
steady,  "  If  you  go,  you'll  put  me  in  a  very  painful  position." 

90 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Gallatin  looked  at  her,  flushed,  looked  hastily  away. 
In  a  voice  of  intense  embarrassment  he  said:  "  I've  an- 
other reason  for  wishing  to  go.  It's  even  stronger  than  the 
knowledge  that  you're — very  naturally — displeased  at  my 
being  forced  upon  you." 

"  Oh,"  said  Courtney,  baffled.  Then,  "  Please  tell 
Richard  what  it  is." 

"  I  cannot."     His  gaze  was  on  the  ground  now. 

Somehow  Courtney  was  liking  him  better.  As  he 
glanced  up,  her  eyes  met  his.  "  Be  frank  with  me,"  she 
urged  winningly.  "  Is  it  because  you  dislike  it  here?  " 

"  No."  His  gaze  was  wandering  again.  "  No,  in- 
deed." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  believe  me 
when  I  say  I  wish  you  to  stay?  " 

He  lowered  his  eyes,  remained  silent. 

"  If  I  were  free  to  choose,  I  would  wish  you  to  go," 
she  went  on,  speaking  with  the  utmost  deliberation.  "  I  am 
not  free.  So,  I  wish  you  to  stay  because  it  will  be  most 
unpleasant  for  me  if  you  persist  in  going.  I  venture  to 
ask  you,  if  it  is  not  too  great  a  sacrifice,  to  stay  on — at 
least,  for  the  present.  But  if  you  still  say  you  must  go, 
I  shall  not  misjudge." 

"  I'll  stay,"  was  his  prompt  response.  "  Gladly."  And 
his  tone  and  eyes  were  sincere. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she  simply. 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  appeal  that  was  very  engag- 
ing. "  I  know  you'll  hate  me  for  having  created  this  situ- 
ation." 

"  I  thought  I  did  a  few  minutes  ago,"  replied  she. 
"  Now,  I  feel  I  don't.  I  feel  I'd  like  to  be  friends  with 
you —  Her  small,  sweet  face  lit  up  with  a  faint  smile — 
"  since  we  can't  be  enemies." 

91 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"You  mean  that?"  he  asked  with  an  eagerness  that 
sounded  only  the  more  eager  for  his  effort  to  restrain  it. 

"  Indeed,,  I  do/'  replied  she.  "  Will  you  help  me  with 
the  gardening — when  you  have  time  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  I'd  like  so  well." 

"Then — it's  all  settled?" 

"  Quite." 

They  smiled  gravely;  they  shook  hands;  they  laughed. 
"  And  a  little  while  ago  I  was  thinking  I  never  could  for- 
give you !  "  exclaimed  she  gayly.  "  Now  I'm  wondering 
what  on  earth  there  was  to  forgive."  And  she  felt  and 
looked  very  well  acquainted  with  him.  It  was  part  of  her 
upright-downright  nature  either  to  like  thoroughly  or  to 
be  so  indifferent  that  she  was  little  short  of  oblivious. 

Before  her  generous  friendliness  the  laughter  died  out 
of  his  face.  "  I'll  try  to  be  worthy  of  your  friendship  and 
your  trust,"  said  he  gravely. 

"  That  sounds  mysterious — somehow." 

"  Does  it?  ...  When  may  I  help  you?  " 

"  Whenever  you  can  get  off.     Soon?  " 

"  To-morrow,  I  think." 

"  That's  good." 

"  I'll  join  Vaughan."  He  hesitated,  blushed.  "  He 
knows  you  were  to  ask  me  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  not  how,"  was  her  calm  answer. 

"  I  understand."  Their  eyes  met.  He  colored ;  but 
her  expression,  sweet  and  grave,  did  not  change.  As  he 
went  Winchie,  seated  morosely  afar  off  on  the  veranda 
steps,  scowled  at  his  back. 

That  evening  Richard  said :  "  Well,  I  think  he's  going 
to  stay.  How  did  you  manage  it?  " 

"  I've  asked  him  to  help  me  with  the  gardening.  He's 
fond  of  it." 

92 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  A  good  idea/'  approved  Richard.    "  I'll  back  you  up." 
She  gazed  silently  out  over  the  unruffled  lake,  so  peace- 
ful, so  suggestive  of  peace  unchanging,  endless — the  lazy, 
graceful   sails — beyond,   the   town   among  its   trees,   lights 
coming  out  as  the  dusk  gathered. 

But  their  friendship,  thus  auspiciously  begun,  did  not 
prosper.  Gallatin  almost  pointedly  avoided  her.  He 
helped  her  only  when  Richard,  disturbed  from  time  to 
time  by  his  unrelaxed  reserve,  urged  him  to  take  a  day  or 
an  afternoon  off  "  and  amuse  yourself  with  the  flowers, 
since  you  like  that  sort  of  thing."  If  it  had  not  been 
that  occasionally  in  talking  or  working  at  the  gardening 
he  seemed  to  forget  his  solemn  and  formal  pose  and 
showed  unmistakable  enthusiasm,  she  would  have  thought 
his  profession  of  interest  a  pretense.  She  had  a  peculiar 
horror  of  gloom — doubtless  born  of  the  austerity  of  her 
bringing  up.  There  was  in  her  circumstances  only  too 
much  to  discourage  her  natural  brightness,  and  she  had 
within  herself  a  struggle  as  incessant  as  that  against  weeds 
and  destructive  insects  in  her  gardens.  She  had  no  desire 
to  make  this  struggle  harder;  so  she  saw  as  little  of  him 
as  she  in  courtesy  could — the  only  course  open  to  her, 
since  she  did  not  know  him  well  enough  to  try  to  help  him. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Gallatin  ?  "  Richard  asked 
her  one  day.  "  He  says  he  likes  it  here  and  is  going  to 
stay,  yet  he  acts  as  if  he  were  revolving  something  different. 
He  used  to  be  full  of  fun  and  life.  Now  he's  enough  to 
give  anyone  the  blues." 

"  He  is  rather  heavy,"  admitted  Courtney. 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  the  booze,"  said  Richard  reflectively. 

"  The  booze?  " 

"  He  always  drank  a  lot  more  than  was  good  for  him. 
7  93 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

And  there  in  Pittsburg  he  got  to  lapping  it  up  like  the  get- 
ricli-quick  crowd  he  traveled  in.  That  was  why  he  wanted 
to  come  here — to  break  off  and  take  a  fresh  start.  I  sup- 
pose he's  gloomy  because  he's  fighting  his  taste  for  rum." 

"  Probably,"  said  Courtney. 

Drink  was  a  vice  she  could  not  comprehend — and  we 
always  are  unsympathetic  toward  the  vices  we  do  not  com- 
prehend. She  associated  drinking  and  stupidity;  the 
Wenona  men  who  drank  to  excess  were  the  dull  ones,  like 
Shirley  Drummond.  When  Richard  thus  disclosed  to  her 
what  Gallatin  had  meant  by  his  mysterious  hint  as  to  his 
reason  for  coming  to  Wenona,  she  lost  the  interest  in  him 
started  by  his  fine  frank  way  of  meeting  her  advances  and 
his  appreciation  of  her  work.  She  recalled  his  other  mys- 
terious hint — about  there  being  a  hidden  reason  for  hia 
wishing  to  go.  "  No  doubt,"  thought  she,  "  he  meant  he's 
finding  it  hard  to  keep  straight  here,  where  it's  so  quiet. 
I  wish  now  that  he'd  gone — though,  when  a  man  can  give 
way  to  such  a  dull,  dirty  habit  as  drunkenness,  he'd  find 
excuse  anywhere." 


As  the  mail  came  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  and  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  she  saw  it  first.  Thus,  she  noted 
that  about  once  a  week  there  was  for  him  a  foreign  letter 
so  heavy  that  it  carried  several  stamps.  These  letters  were 
from  the  same  person,  the  same  woman.  And  as  the  writ- 
ing  was  large,  rapid,  and  affectedly  angular,  she  more  than 
suspected  that  the  woman  was  young.  Somewhat  tardily 
these  facts,  obvious  though  their  leading  was,  wove  together 
in  her  mind,  incurious  about  other  people's  affairs;  she 
knew  that  there  was  traveling  abroad  a  young  woman  who 
was  taking  the  trouble  to  write  their  guest  regularly  and 

94 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

at  great  length.  But  when  she  happened  to  recall  that 
he  had  a  young  married  sister,  she  assumed  the  letters  were 
from  her. 

One  day  he  casually  said  that  his  sister  had  taken  a 
house  at  Bar  Harbor  for  the  summer.  The  moment  he 
said  this,  she  for  some  unknown  reason,  or  for  no  reason 
at  all,  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  his  depressed  state 
was  due  to  the  lady  of  the  letters — to  her  being  so  far  away 
— perhaps  to  some  difficulty  in  their  love — the  objection  of 
her  parents  to  his  drinking  habit. 

All  was  now  clear  to  her.  And  thenceforth  she  looked 
at  him  with  deep  sympathy.  He  was  not  handsome;  his 
mouth,  for  example,  was  so  heavy  that  it  flatly  gave  the 
lie  to  his  idealist,  poetic  eyes.  His  nose  was  not  good,  was 
too  small  for  a  man's  face.  Somewhere  there  lurked  a  sug- 
gestion of  weakness,  and  this  was  not  lessened  by  his 
attention  to  dress — though  she  liked  his  clothes  and  his 
way  of  wearing  them.  He  was  far  from  her  ideal  of  a 
man.  But  the  longer  one  knew  him,  the  better  one  thought 
of  him,  chiefly  because  the  more  confidence  one  had  in  his 
essential  generosity  and  kindness.  And  she  felt  that  he 
had  capacity  for  tenderness  of  a  very  manly  sort,  and  for 
appreciation  of  love  and  of  all  the  beautiful  things;  just 
the  kind  of  nature  fate  seemed  to  delight  in  making  the 
sport  of  its  maliciousness. 

One  night,  in  the  pensive  mood  to  which  she  sometimes 
yielded  for  an  hour,  she  was  at  the  piano  softly  playing 
and  singing  that  saddest  of  sad  love's  songs: 

"  Alas  for  lovers !    Pair  by  pair 

The  wind  has  swept  them  all  away — 

The  young,  the  yare;  the  fresh,  the  fair — 

Where  are  the  snows  of  yesterday  ?  " 

95 


THE   HUNGRY   HEAET 

Through  the  window  she  saw  him  leaning  against  a 
pillar  of  the  veranda.  His  profile  was  outlined  clear  against 
the  luminous  dusk.  Its  expression  made  her  voice  die  alto- 
gether in  a  sob.  She  forgot  her  own  sense  of  fleeting  wast- 
ing youth,  of  supreme  joy  forever  denied,  of  love  never  to 
be  hers.  This  sorrow  before  her  in  those  profiled  features 
— they  were  strong  features  now — was  no  vague  dream,  but 
a  living  reality.  She  longed  to  go  to  him  and  try  to  con- 
sole him;  and  at  the  same  time,  no  matter  how  well  she 
had  known  him,  she  could  not  have  gone — for  in  that 
unsuspected  strength  of  his  there  was  the  hopelessness  that 
is  beyond  consolation.  From  that  time  he  was  the  fore- 
most figure  in  her  thoughts;  and  her  fancy  put  its  own 
color  into  everything  he  said  and  did.  If  he  had  begun  to 
drink  she  would  have  been  only  the  more  sympathetic;  for, 
she  could  comprehend  how  unhappy  love  might  drive  its 
victim  to  any  excess — were  not  her  own  longings,  for  three 
years  now  latent  except  for  an  occasional  outburst,  once 
more  throbbing  and  aching  day  and  night? 


It  was  part  of  her  routine  to  make  a  careful  tour  every 
day  to  see  that  everything  was  up  to  the  mark.  One  day, 
in  their  guest's  sitting  room,  she  happened  to  see  half 
fallen  from  the  stationery  rack  a  letter  from  his  foreign 
correspondent.  It  was  apparently  unopened.  The  shock 
of  this  made  her  take  a  second  look  before  she  realized  how 
she  was  intruding  upon  his  sacred  privacy.  But  she  had 
seen;  the  letter  was  indeed  unopened.  And  she  knew  that 
the  last  come  of  these  letters  had  been  at  least  three  days  in 
his  possession. 

Her  heart  ached  for  him;  she  felt  she  understood.  His 
love  affair  had  been  going  more  and  more  badly — his 

96 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

increasing  silence  and  sadness  made  that  certain.  And  this 
letter  must  contain  some  news  he  dared  not  read — some 
•words  that  meant  the  burial  of  his  dead  hope.  She  went 
downstairs  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  out  into  the  sunshine — 
out  to  the  rose  garden  in  the  western  part  of  the  grounds. 
She  had  been  dreaming  all  along  that  this  romance  of  which 
she  was  unsuspected,  deeply  moved  spectator  would  surely 
"  come  out  all  right."  Life  did  not  always  mock  the  story 
books.  Love  was  not  always  sad,  not  always  mere  de- 
ceptive echo  of  one's  own  heart  call — echo  that  flitted  mock- 
ingly on  as  one  pursued.  No;  this  love  that  meant  so  much 
to  him  would  prove  real.  Such  had  been  her  dream. 
Now —  The  flowers,  their  perfume,  the  gay  birds,  the  sun- 
beams— all  the  sights  and  sounds  she  loved  seemed  tricks  of 
a  black  enchanter.  She  remembered  the  day  they  buried 
her  little  brother.  There  had  been  just  such  radiant  glory 
as  this.  She  remembered  the  day  she  had  seen  that  her 
own  dream  of  love  was  dead.  There  had  been  just  such 
sunshine  and  music  and  perfume.  How  could  anyone  with 
a  human  heart  even  for  a  moment  laugh,  jest?  To  be  light 
was  to  make  oneself  party  to  this  cruel  levity  of  bird  and 
flower  and  sunbeam.  Laugh,  when  loved  ones  were  dying 
somewhere — and  the  living  were  bending  over  dead  faces 
with  cracking  hearts?  Jest,  when  the  winds  of  time  and 
change  were  blowing  love  and  lovers  all  away? 

She  caught  her  breath  in  a  kind  of  terror  when,  on  her 
return  to  the  house,  Lizzie  told  her  that  Mr.  Gallatin  had 
dashed  in,  had  packed  a  bag,  and  had  rushed  off  to  Chi- 
cago. "  He  has  business  there,"  Richard  explained  at  din- 
ner. "  And  I've  asked  him  to  buy  some  stuff  for  the 
laboratory."  She  was  uneasy,  at  times  unhappy,  through- 
out the  following  week,  as  she  thought  of  him  trying  to 

97 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

rid  himself  of  his  toe  heavy  burden.  Probably  he  was 
dissipating — she  hoped  he  was,  if  it  would  give  him  relief. 
She  began  to  debate  whether  she  ought  not  to  tell  Richard 
what  she  had  accidentally  discovered,  and  suggest  that 
he  go  to  Chicago  to  help  his  friend,  who  might  have  fallen 
ill  or  worse.  At  dinner  and  at  supper,  even  at  breakfast, 
where  she  had  seen  him  only  occasionally,  she  positively 
missed  Gallatin.  Until  he  came,  the  time  spent  at  table 
had  been  the  stupidest  part  of  each  day — Richard  and  she 
in  silence  or  abstraction,  or  exchanging  disconnected  com- 
monplaces about  the  weather,  the  food,  their  friends.  While 
Gallatin  was  far  from  lively,  still  he  and  she  had  talked — 
usually  about  gardening  and  plants,  the  difficulties  and 
mysteries  of  inducing  things  to  grow,  the  comparative  mer- 
its of  various  species  for  flowering  and  for  hardiness — not 
exciting  conversation,  but  interesting,  a  relief  to  a  monot- 
ony the  dreariness  of  which  she  did  not  appreciate  until  he 
came — and  went. 


On  the  eighth  day,  as  they  were  at  supper,  he  appeared 
unexpectedly  on  the  threshold.  There  was  no  forcing  in 
the  cordiality  of  her  smile.  At  first  glance,  she  suspected 
that  he  was  in  much  better  spirits.  And  this  impression 
was  soon  confirmed.  Certainly  good  news — the  best — 
must  have  reached  him  in  Chicago.  Otherwise  he  could  not 
sit  there  eating  heartily,  laughing,  making  amusing  re- 
marks, telling  funny  incidents  of  the  trip.  Courtney  tried 
to  continue  to  feel  delighted  that  he  had  found  surcease 
from  sorrow.  But  her  spirits  went  steadily  down.  She 
felt  horribly  alone.  She  had  been  company  for  him  in  his 
unhappiness — though  he  did  not  know  it.  Now,  she  quite 
unreasonably  felt  as  if  he  had  deserted  her.  She  was 

98 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ashamed  of  this,  so  ungenerous,  so  selfish,  but  she  could 
not  help  it. 

After  supper  Richard  left  them  alone;  they  went  out 
on  the  veranda — out  where  the  full  beauty  of  that  place, 
now  at  summer's  climax,  could  be  seen  in  the  soft  sunset 
light.  She  stood  watching  a  belated  bird,  a  tall  white  sail 
— listening  to  the  faint  sounds  of  the  town  that  came 
tinkling  across  the  water.  But  she  was  thinking  of  the  man 
beside  her.  "  You've  been  enjoying  yourself  in  Chicago," 
said  she. 

"  No,"  was  his  unexpected  answer.  "  I've  been  impa- 
tient to  get  back."  He  glanced  round  at  trees  and  lawns, 
gardens  and  shrubbery,  with  delighted  eyes.  "  I  had  to 
go  away,  to  appreciate  how  well  off  I  was."  He  went  to 
the  edge  of  the  veranda  to  get  a  broader  sweep.  He  seemed 
to  be  noting,  reveling  in,  every  detail.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath,  returned  to  the  big  lounge  chair,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
"  Yes,"  continued  he.  "  Yes — I  didn't  dream  it,  or  im- 
agine it.  It's  all  true.  It's  all  here."  Without  looking 
at  her:  "  And  you  happen  to  be  wearing  the  same 
dress  you  had  on  the  evening  I  came.  Now,  don't  tell 
me  you  made  it — as  you've  made  those  gardens  and  these 
rooms." 

"  I  superintend,"  said  Courtney,  thinking  him  a  pleas- 
ant and  agreeable,  if  deplorably  shallow  person.  "  I'm 
not  one  of  those  dreadful  original  women  who  get  up  their 
own  awful  costumes,  and  think  they're  individual  because 
they're  different." 

"If  you  lived  in  Paris,  you'd  set  the  styles,"  declared 
he.  "  And  you're  equally  good  at  gardening  and  decorat- 
ing houses." 

"  That's  laid  on  with  the  trowel,"  laughed  she.  "  But 
I  like  it."  She  returned  to  the  subject  that  fitted  her 

99 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

thoughts.  "  You're  much  livelier  than  when  you  went 
away;  I'm  sure  you've  had  good  news." 

"  No — nothing.  I  simply  took  myself  in  hand."  He 
reflected  in  silence,  then  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  boyish  simplicity  and  candor.  "  You  see,"  he  pro- 
ceeded to  explain,  "  I've  had  something  on  my  mind  ever 
since  I  came — that  is,  almost  ever  since — something  that 
was  nay  own  affair  entirely.  And  I  let  it  prey  on  me — 
made  myself  a  nuisance  and  a  bore,  I've  no  doubt." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  mischievous  humor  in  her  eyes  as 
she  nodded  assent  and  said :  "  You  were  solemner  than  I 
thought  a  human  being  could  be." 

"  Precisely.  Well,  that's  over.  As  I  said  before,  I 
didn't  realize  how  well  off  I  was,  how  mnch  I  had  to  be 
thankful  for,  as  the  pious  people  say.  I  do  realize  it. 
And  I'm  going  to  behave  myself." 

Courtney  felt  she  ought  to  be  scandalized  by  this  van- 
ishing of  the  last  solemn  tatters  of  the  tragic  romance  she 
had  woven  about  him;  for  it  was  clear  as  the  lake  that  he 
had  gotten  over  his  bereavement  in  that  one  brief  week, 
had  gotten  over  it  entirely.  But  somehow  she  was  not 
scandalized;  was,  on  the  contrary,  taking  quite  cheerfully 
this  confirmation  of  his  fickleness,  of  his  incapacity  for 
deep  emotion.  After  all,  wasn't  that  the  best  way  to  be? 
Wasn't  he  perhaps  philosopher  rather  than  shallow  change- 
ling? Wasn't  he  simply  exemplifying  the  truth  that  fire 
burns  out,  that  the  dead  are  forgotten,  that  life  leans 
always  at  the  bow  of  the  ship,  never  at  the  stern?  She, 
eager  to  escape  from  her  own  shadows  and  thorns,  slipped 
easily  into  his  mood.  "  I  should  say  you  did  have  a  lot 
to  be  thankful  for !  "  answered  she.  "  And  you'll  soon  for- 
get her."  She  colored  at  her  slip.  "  I  assume  it  was  a 
love  affair,"  she  hastened  to  add.  "  We  women  always  do." 

100 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Yes,  it  was." 

"  You'll  get  over  it." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  get  over  it."  He  was  not  smiling 
back  at  her.  She  felt  his  thoughts  traveling  over  land  and 
sea,  into  Europe,  whence  came  those  letters — there  were 
two  of  them  waiting  on  his  desk  upstairs.  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  get  over  it,"  he  repeated.  "  I've  learned — "  His  voice, 
full  of  earnest  young  seriousness,  sounded  as  if  he  were 
thinking  aloud  rather  than  talking  to  her — "  I've  learned 
there's  a  love  deeper  than  the  love  that  demands — a  love 
that  appreciates  where  it  dares  not  aspire — a  love  that 
asks  nothing  but  just  silently  to  love." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  by  the  snapping  of 
the  match,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette.  She  startled,  rose,  and 
leaned  against  a  pillar.  With  eyes  half  veiled  by  her  long 
lashes  she  watched  the  gardens  wane  dreamily  in  the  even- 
ing light.  She  inhaled  the  odors  of  rose,  of  lilac,  of  jas- 
mine, of  honeysuckle — perfumes  so  sweet  that  they  were 
sad.  How  cruelly  she  had  misjudged  him!  She  felt  a 
kind  of  reverence  for  him  now,  him  with  this  nobility  of 
soul  so  unconscious,  so  lofty.  Here  was  a  man  worth  a 
woman's  while.  "  Why  couldn't  I  have  had  such  a  love 
as  he  is  giving?  "  she  thought.  "  Oh,  if  she  had  learned 
what  I've  learned !  " 

"  Come  into  the  sitting  room,  Gallatin,"  called  Richard 
from  that  direction. 

Gallatin  went,  and  for  a  few  minutes  Courtney  heard, 
in  intervals  between  lier  thoughts,  snatches  of  the  talk 
between  the  two  men  about  the  shopping  Gallatin  had  done 
for  the  laboratory — talk  about  a  new  crusher,  about  a  prom- 
ising bomb  calorimeter.  After  a  while  came  in  Vaughan's 
voice,  "  Courtney,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

She  stood  in  the  window  with  an  inquiring  glance. 
101 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I've  been  telling  Gallatin  you're  going  to  introduce 
him  round  among  the  Wenona  girls.  And  he  says  he  has 
no  use  for  women." 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  Basil.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  think 
women — a  woman — the  most  important  element  in  a  man's 
life." 

Richard  laughed.     "  Why,  the  man's  in  love !  "  cried  he. 

Courtney  saw  Gallatin  wince  as  his  wound  was  struck 
by  this  careless,  jovial  hand. 

"  Only  a  lover,"  proceeded  Dick,  "  would  exaggerate 
woman  in  that  frenzied  fashion.  To  live  isn't  to  love.  It's 
to  do — to  achieve." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Gallatin.  "  Love's  the 
center — the  mainspring — the  purpose — the  meaning." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  woman." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  retorted  Gallatin.  Courtney  saw  that 
Dick  had  irritated  him.  "  In  one  respect  I  envy  women. 
A  woman  knows  whether  or  not  a  man  loves  her.  A  man 
can  only  hope  and  believe."  And  he  glanced  swiftly  at  her. 

He  looked  confused,  frightened,  as  her  expression 
showed  that  she,  the  married  woman,  the  lovelessly  married 
woman,  understood.  She  turned  away  abruptly,  two  bright 
red  spots  burning  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Well,"  said  the  unobserving  Richard  to  Gallatin,  "  I 
confess  I  don't  grasp  your  meaning.  But  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter. A  good  woman  loves  her  husband,  and  he  knows  it. 
The  rest's  of  no  consequence.  We  must  get  him  a  wife, 
Courtney.  He'd  make  an  ideal  husband,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  A  good  wife  does  not  think,"  said  Courtney. 

Richard  was  amused.     "  But  if  she  did?  "  he  persisted. 

"  Then  she'd  probably  think  it  fortunate  for  husbands 
that  wives  aren't  independent." 

Vaughan  again  looked  puzzled.  "  That  sounds  as  ir- 
102 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

relevant  as  what  Gallatin  said  a  minute  ago.  Now  will 
you  tell  us,  what  has  it  to  do  with  what  we  were  talking 
about?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  she.  And  she  did  not.  She 
was  astonished  before  this  apparition  of  a  thought  she  had 
not  been  conscious  of  having  definitely  in  mind  since  that 
conversation  with  her  mother  long  ago;  and  here  it  was 
popping  up  as  if  it  were  her  constant  companion.  "  It 
just  came  into  my  head/'  she  went  smilingly  on.  "  You 
know  we  women  are  irresponsible,  irrational  beings,  and 
so  we  don't  think  straight  or  talk  connectedly." 

She  said  good  night,  went  up  to  her  apartment.  She 
was  wishing  now  that  Gallatin  had  not  told  her  about  this 
love  of  his  for  the  woman  across  the  seas.  It  had  made 
her  discontented — unhappy.  It  had  compelled  her  to  think 
what  a  patchwork  of  makeshifts  her  own  life  was.  "  Yet 
I  ought  to  be  contented.  Haven't  I  Winchie?  And  I  can't 
even  complain  of  poor  health  or  discomfort  of  any  kind. 
I  don't  deserve  my  good  fortune.  Other  women  would 
envy  me."  No,  they  would  not.  She  saw  in  remembered 
faces  of  women  friends  the  same  discontent  she  was  hiding 
in  her  heart.  A  woman — a  woman  grown — craved  more 
than  material  comfort  could  give,  more  than  work  or  play, 
however  interesting,  more  than  motherhood  could  give — 
craved  that  grown-up,  equal  love  without  which  life  was 
like  a  wonderful  watch  with  a  broken  mainspring.  She 
thought  of  Basil  Gallatin  again.  At  least  she  was  more 
fortunate  than  he.  Suppose  she,  like  him,  loved  and  it 
were  not  returned.  Then  indeed  would  her  heart  ache. 

When  she  saw  him  alone  next  day,  she  said  shyly  and 
with  color  high:  "  It  seems  to  me  you  can't  have  told  her 
— told  her  as  you  told  me.  Won't  you  go  to  her — not  write, 
but  go — and  try  again?  Believe  me,  Mr.  Gallatin,  women 

103 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

appreciate  love — at  least,  any  woman  who  could  inspire  the 
love  you  give  her.  And  if  she  knew,  she'd  love  you — she 
couldn't  hejp  it." 

She  feared  she  had  intruded.  But  when  he  at  last 
spoke,  his  tone  was  not  the  tone  of  one  who  is  offended. 
"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  he  stammered.  "  But —  I  assure 
you  it's  hopeless.  She  is  not  for  me." 

"  Oh ! "  Courtney  shrank.  "  She  cares  for  some  one 
else.  I — I'm  so  sorry  I  spoke.  I " 

"No — no,"  he  said;  "it 'was  friendly.  It  was — like 
you." 

This  began  their  real  friendship.  And  she  needed 
friendship  just  then.  What  he  had  told  her  put  her  in  a 
mood  where  all  her  occupations  were  in  vain,  and  all  the 
wisdom  she  had  gathered  from  books  and  from  thinking 
about  things  as  they  are,  and  all  the  patiently,  slowly  ac- 
quired stoicism  of  the  matrimonial  routine.  Her  heart  was 
clamoring  as  it  had  not  since  those  first  months  of  her  dis- 
covery that  love  was  delusion  and  that  she  must  learn  to  live 
without  it.  She  wished  Gallatin  had  not  told  her;  she 
wished  he  had  never  come.  And  at  the  same  time  she  felt 
that  through  the  sadness  he  had  brought  there  had  come 
into  her  life  a  pleasure  she  would  not  wish  to  give  up — 
the  sympathy  between  him  and  her,  based  on  their  knowl- 
edge each  of  the  other's  secret.  She  felt  very  proud  of  his 
confidence,  of  his  friendship.  Also,  there  was  the  fascina- 
tion that  always  issues  from  a  great  emotion,  even  though 
it  be  seen  but  in  mimic  on  the  stage.  This  great  emotion 
of  his  was  a  vivid  actuality.  It  made  a  smile  upon  his 
features  heroism;  it  made  a  look  of  sadness  tragedy. 

He  helped  her  in  the  gardens  often  now.  Richard,  mak- 
ing some  secret  experiments,  did  not  want  him  at  the 
laboratory.  Sometimes  he  and  she  worked  together  at 

104 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

changing  color  schemes  or  improving  mass  effects  or  vis- 
tas. Again  each  worked  alone,  perhaps  at  some  surprise 
for  the  other.  It  was  after  a  morning  of  hard  labor  in 
opposite  ends  of  the  grounds  that  she  said  when  they  met 
at  the  house :  "  Richard's  not  coming  up,  so  Nanny  has 
to  take  him  his  dinner.  And  Lizzie's  away  and  Mazie  not 
well.  I'll  wait  on  you." 

"  Let's  have  a  picnic,"  suggested  he,  "  out  under  that 
big  elm." 

And  with  Winchie  helping  they  carried  everything  to 
the  rustic  table  and  proceeded  to  have  one  of  those  happy- 
go-lucky  meals  that  make  the  blue  devils  put  their  tails 
between  their  legs  and  fly  away  on  their  forks.  Winchie, 
let  eat  what  he  pleased,  forgot  his  dislike  of  Gallatin — at 
least  so  far  that  he  only  frowned  occasionally  as  Gallatin 
and  Courtney  talked  the  most  hopeless  nonsense  with  the 
keenest  pleasure.  When  Basil's  face  was  animated  it  was 
never  homely;  when  he  smiled  it  was  always  handsome. 
For  the  first  time  since  he  came  he  lost  all  constraint,  and 
the  sparkle  of  girlhood  came  back  to  her.  They  stayed  out 
there  nearly  three  hours,  and  it  seemed  no  time  at  all. 
Nanny,  sour  and  scowling  at  the  impropriety  of  such  con- 
duct in  a  married  woman — one  married  into  the  ancient  and 
rigid  house  of  Vaughan — took  away  the  dishes  and  linen. 
But  the  hint  so  plain  in  her  dour  looks  went  unnoted. 
It  was  a  shower  that  broke  up  the  party,  sent  them 
scurrying  to  the  house,  he  carrying  furious  and  protest- 
ing Winchie.  She  punished  Winchie  for  his  rudeness  by 
sending  him  up  to  his  bedroom  to  sit  alone  and  think  down 
his  temper. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  have  done  that,"  said  Basil,  when  the 
boy,  defiant  even  in  obedience,  disappeared. 

"  It's  the  only  way  to  make  him  remember.  And  I 
105 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


can't  whip  him.  I'm  too  selfish,  even  if  I  didn't  know  it 
was  equally  degrading  to  him." 

"  He  can't  help  not  liking  me,"  persisted  Basil. 
"  We're  not  to  blame  for  our  likes  and  dislikes." 

"  No.  But  we  are  to  blame  for  giving  way  to  them." 
She  was  arranging  freshly  cut  flowers  in  vases  and  jars  in 
the  sitting  room. 

"  Yes,  for  giving  way  to  them,"  said  Basil  thought- 
fully, after  a  long  time. 

"  To  what?  "  asked  Courtney,  who  had  forgotten. 

"  Our  feelings." 

"  Oh,  I  remember." 

"  You're  right  about  that."  Basil  was  speaking  with 
an  effort.  "  For  example,  if  a  man  were  to — to  fall  in  love 
with  a  married  woman,  he'd  be  a — miserable  cur  if  he  told 
her."  Those  last  few  words  came  explosively. 

"  Gracious !  "  Courtney  beamed  mischievously  at  him 
from  behind  a  gorgeous  spread  of  half  blown  roses.  "  You 
are  fierce !  Well,  that's  settled.  If  he  heard  you,  he'd  never 
dare  tell  her." 

She  saw  his  face,  and  it  flashed  over  her  that  it  was  a 
married  woman  he  loved.  Yes,  of  course!  Why  had  she 
not  guessed  it  at  once !  And  he  was  saying  these  harsh 
things  to  make  it  impossible  for  himself  to  yield  to  the 
impulse.  The  smile  left  her  eyes.  He  was  at  the  window 
with  his  back  to  her.  She  looked  tender  sympathy.  "  Poor 
boy !  "  she  thought.  "  And  I  saw  to-day  how  happy  he 
could  be,  and  how  happy  he  could  make  a  woman.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  she  does  love  him.  What  a  sorrow  that  would  be ! 
And  utterly  hopeless !  " 

He  turned  abruptly.    "  Will  you  be  my  friend  ?  " 

She  came  straight  up  to  him,  put  out  her  hand.  "  In- 
deed I  will/'  she  said. 

106 


He  took  her  hand,  pressed  it.  Then  he  drew  back  with 
his  hands  behind  him.  "  You  are  a  good  woman,"  he  said. 
"  Good  through  and  through.  I  want  you  to  help  me  fight 
a  battle  I'm  having  just  now.  I  thought  I'd  won  it.  I 
haven't.  But  I  will !  " 

"  I  understand,  I  think.  It  is  hard.  But  you  are 
strong  and  honorable.  You —  The  woman —  She  is  al- 
ready— "  She  paused,  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Yes — God  help  me !  "  he  cried,  turning  away. 

His  cry  could  not  have  reached  a  more  responsive  heart. 
After  a  pause  she  said:  "If  she  doesn't  love  you,  it'd  be 
useless  to  tell  her." 

"  Worse !     It  would  mean  I  was  a  cur." 

"  And  if  she  does  love  you,  it'd  be  wicked  to  tell  her — 
to  add  to  her  unhappiness." 

"  If  you  were  in  my  place —  Suppose  I  could  be  with 
her — could  go  and  live  near  her " 

"  Oh,  no;  you  oughtn't  to  do  that!  You  ought  to  spare 
yourself  and  her  that." 

"  But  suppose,"  he  urged  eagerly,  "  suppose  she  didn't 
care  for  me — never  would — and  I  could  keep  my  secret " 

"  But  you  couldn't !     And  she  might  grow  to  care." 

He  sat  in  a  big  chair  by  the  window,  stared  moodily  at 
the  floor.  "  It  seems  to  me  I  can't  do  that !  "  he  said  at 
last.  "  I  don't  love  her  as  men  usually  love.  She  means 
infinitely  more  to  me  than  that.  And,  loving  her  as  I  do, 
I'm  in  no  danger  of  telling  her.  And  it  would  make  me 
almost  happy  so  much  of  the  time,  and  a  better  man — yes, 
a  better  man — to  be  near  her.  What  you  say  I  ought  to 
do — it's  like  turning  a  man  out  into  the  desert  without  food 
or  drink — to  wander — on  and  on " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  interrupted,  her  small,  sweet 
face  all  tenderness  and  distress.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  competent 

107 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

to  advise.  You  mustn't  ask  anyone.  You  must  do  what 
you  think  is  right." 

"  Right !  "  he  echoed  forlornly. 

She  who  had  eaten  of  the  husks  that  went  by  the  name 
of  right  hadn't  the  heart  to  urge  them  on  him.  She  re- 
turned to  the  table,  to  the  arranging  of  the  flowers.  With- 
out looking  up  he  went  on :  "I  haven't  told  you  quite  all. 
There's  another  thing.  I — I'm  engaged." 

"Engaged!" 

"  Don't  look  at  me  that  way.  I  can  feel  it,  though  I'm 
not  seeing.  You  can't  think  less  of  me  than  I  think  of 
myself.  But  let  me  tell  you.  The  girl's  a  distant  cousin 
of  mine.  And  her  grandfather,  who  was  crazy  about  fami- 
lies, left  her  a  fortune  on  condition  that  she  married  me. 
He  left  an  equal  sum  to  me  on  condition  that  I  marry  her. 
But  there's  this  difference:  What  he  left  her  is  all  she'd 
have — every  cent.  I've  got  enough  without  his  legacy 
to  me." 

"  And  you —    Oh,  it's  dreadful,  isn't  it?  " 

"  We're  not  in  love — not  in  the  least.  But  I've  given 
her  my  promise,  and  she'd  be  penniless  if  I  broke  it.  She's 
nineteen.  We've  got  till  she's  twenty-one.  She's  abroad 
now." 

"  The  letters  I've  seen  in  the  mail — they're  from  her?  " 

"  From  her,"  replied  he.  "  How  can  I  marry  when  I 
love  another  woman?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Courtney.  She  was  sitting  now,  her  hands 
full  of  roses  and  listless  in  her  lap.  "  Then  you've  no  more 
right  to  love  this  woman  than  she  has  to  love  you.  .  .  .  Oh, 
I  don't  know  what  to  say !  " 

"  Don't  think  I'm  trying  to  shift  part  of  my  burden 
to  you.  I'm  not.  But  I  felt  if  I  could  talk  it  out  loud 
with  some  one  who  was  sympathetic  I'd  see  the  way  better. 

108 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

And  I  do."  The  expression  of  his  eyes  thrilled  her;  it  was 
so  manly,  so  honest,  so  resolved. 

"  What  have  you  decided — if  you  don't  mind  telling 
me?" 

"  To  go  to  Starky — that's  my  cousin — her  real  name's 
Estelle,  but  she  detests  it — I'll  go  to  her  and  we'll  marry." 

"  No — no !  "  cried  Courtney.  "  Whatever 's  right,  that 
isn't.  Oh,  you  don't  know.  She  has  a  right  to  love. 
You're  cheating  her — cheating  her !  " 

"  But  I  can  never  give  her  that." 

"  You  may " 

"Never!" 

Courtney  shook  her  head  slowly,  lifted  the  roses,  buried 
her  face  in  them,  inhaled  their  perfume  deeply.  "  Then — 
you  mustn't  marry  her,"  she  said. 

"  You  don't  know  her.  She  cares  for  money — the  things 
money  buys — more  than  for  anything  else  in  the  world. 
It's  the  way  we  bring  'em  up  in  the  East." 

"  Believe  me,"  cried  Courtney,  solemn  in  her  earnest- 
ness, "  that's  not  true.  There  isn't  any  woman  anywhere 
who  doesn't  put  love  first.  Go  to  your  cousin — yes.  But 
go  and  try  to  love  her." 

His  eyes  suddenly  blazed  upon  her.  "  Love  her 
after — "  he  began  impetuously.  He  reddened,  his  head 
sank.  "  After  the  woman  I — "  He  muttered  confusedly, 
"  I  can't  talk  about  it,"  and  hastily  left  the  room  by  the 
door-window  nearest  him. 

She  sighed  sympathetically,  rose,  moved  slowly  toward 
the  vase  she  had  only  half  finished.  Midway  she  halted. 
That  look  of  his  had  just  penetrated  to  her.  "  Oh!"  she 
gasped.  And  she  wheeled  round  and  stared  with  blanching 
cheeks,  as  if  he  were  still  standing  there  before  her  with 
his  secret  betrayed  in  his  eyes.  "  Oh !  "  she  repeated  under 
8  109 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

her  breath.  How  her  mistaken  romancings  about  his  sad- 
ness had  misled  her  woman's  instinct!  For  now,  like  steel 
filings  round  a  magnet,  a  swarm  of  happenings  since  he 
came  ranged  round  that  telltale  look  of  his — where  they 
belonged. 


VII 

BASIL  was  last  in  to  supper,  came  with  his  nervousness 
plain  in  his  features.  His  uneasy  glance  at  her  met  a 
smile  of  mgenuous  friendliness  that  could  not  but  reassure. 
Richard  was  there,  absent-minded  as  usual,  and  uncon- 
scious of  them  both.  They  were  unconscious  of  him  also, 
Basil  no  less  so  than  she,  for  he  had  long  since  acquired  the 
habit  of  the  household.  No  one  spoke  until  Richard,  having 
finished,  lighted  a  cigarette  and  fell  to  explaining  to  Basil 
an  experiment  he  had  made  that  day.  He  was  full  of  it, 
illustrated  his  points  with  diagrams  drawn  on  the  yellow 
pad  which  was  never  far  from  his  hand.  Courtney,  relieved 
of  the  necessity  of  trying  to  look  natural  before  Basil,  was 
abie  to  turn  her  thoughts  again  to  the  subject  that  had 
been  occupying  her  steadily  from  the  moment  she  discov- 
ered his  secret. 

If  Gallatin  could  have  seen  into  her  mind,  he  would 
have  been  as  nearly  scandalized  as  it  is  possible  for  an 
infatuated,  unsatisfied  lover  to  be.  For  even  where  a  man 
feels  he  himself  has  the  right  to  revolt  against  exasper- 
ating musts  and  must  nots  of  conventional  morality,  he  is 
unusual  indeed  if  he  honestly  approves  any  such  revolt, 
however  timid,  in  a  woman.  Man  is  the  author  and  guard- 
ian of  that  morality;  in  the  division  of  labor  he  has  im- 
posed upon  woman  the  duty  of  being  its  exemplar.  Thus, 
though  human,  she  must  pretend  not  to  be;  she  must  stifle 
if  possible,  conceal  at  any  cost,  her  human  fondness  for  the 
free  and  the  frank.  For  Courtney  there  was  double  attrac- 
tion in  this  love  of  Basil's — because  it  was  love  for  her  and 

111 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

because  she  was  lonely — how  lonely  she  had  never  realized 
until  now.  There  is  the  loneliness  of  physical  solitude,  the 
loneliness  for  company — and  a  great  unhappiness  it  is, 
especially  to  those  who  approach  the  lower  animals  in 
lack  of  resources  within  themselves.  Courtney  had  never 
suffered  from  this;  she  had  never  cared  for  "just  people." 
Then  there  is  the  loneliness  of  soul  solitude,  the  loneliness 
for  comradeship — and  who  suffers  from  this  suffers  torment. 
It  may  lull,  but  it  will  surely  rage  again,  and  it  will  never 
cease  until  it  is  satisfied  or  the  heart  itself  ceases  to  beat. 
This  was  the  loneliness  of  Courtney  Vaughan.  "  If  he," 
thought  she,  "were  bad,  and  I,  too — no,  perhaps  not  ex- 
actly bad,  but — well,  different — less — less  conscientious — 
how  happy  we  might  be !  That  is,  of  course,  if  I  cared  for 
him — or  could  make  myself  believe  I  did — which  is  impos- 
sible." She  lingered  over  this  impossible  supposition  as 
over  a  sweet,  fantastic  dream.  She  dropped  it  and  turned 
away,  only  to  return  to  it.  And  thinking  of  it  filled  her 
with  the  same  tender  sadness  she  got  from  love  stories 
and  love  songs.  "  I  would  not  if  I  could,  I  could  not  if 
I  would,  but — "  Love !  Into  the  silence  of  that  void  in 
her  life  had  come  a  sound.  It  was  the  right  word,  but  not 
the  right  voice.  Still,  there  was  joy  in  the  right  word. 
And  she  would  not  have  been  human  had  she  bent  other 
than  kindly  eyes  and  kindly  thoughts  upon  the  man  who 
pronounced  that  word  of  words.  Long  since — from  her 
first  notion  that  he  was  hiding  a  romantic  secret — his  real 
self  had  begun  to  receive  from  her  imagination  the  trans- 
figuring veil  of  illusion.  The  discovery  that  she  herself 
was  the  secret  certainly  did  not  make  the  veil  thinner.  A 
strong  imagination  flings  out  this  beautiful,  trouble-making 
drapery  always;  not  quite  so  eagerly  if  there  has  been  sad 
•warning  experience,  but  none  the  less  inevitably.  It  would 

112 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

be  many  a  day,  if  ever,  before  Courtney  could  again  see 
Basil  Gallatin  as  he  was  in  reality. 

As  she  sat  there,  silent,  all  but  oblivious  of  her  imme- 
diate surroundings,  she  was  awakened  by  hearing  him  say, 
in  reply  to  something  from  Richard:  "But  I'm  afraid 
I'll  have  to — to  change  my  plans — and — go  away."  It 
was  said  hesitatingly,  with  much  effort. 

"  Go  away !  "  cried  Richard.  Courtney  could  not  have 
spoken. 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

"Not  for  good?" 

"  Probably — in  fact,  almost  certainly." 

"  Why,  man,  you  can't  do  that !  "  protested  Dick.  "  You 
can't  leave  me  in  the  lurch." 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  keep  my  interest.  It's  simply  that  I 
can't  sta}*  on,  myself." 

"  But  I  need  you  now  as  much  as  I  need  the  capital. 
Why,  it'd  upset  everything  for  a  year — perhaps  longer. 
I  couldn't  easily  find  a  competent  man  I  could  trust," 

Basil  repeated  in  a  final,  dogged  way,  "  It's  impossible 
for  me  to  stay." 

"  Is  there  anything  unsatisfactory  in " 

"  No — no  indeed.  My  own  affairs  entirely,  I  assure 
you." 

As  he  had  finished  supper,  Vaughan  took  him  out  on 
the  veranda,  where  Courtney  heard  them — or,  rather,  heard 
Dick — arguing  and  protesting.  Presently  she  drifted  into 
the  sitting  room,  sat  at  the  piano,  let  her  fingers  wander 
soundlessly  over  the  keys.  What  should  she  do?  What 
was  best  for  him — for  her — "  and  there's  Richard,  too,  who 
needs  him."  Why  should  he  go?  How  would  it  help 
matters?  True,  she  had  declared  that  to  be  the  right 
course;  but  then  she  was  merely  theorizing,  merely  talking 

113 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  conventional  thing.  This  was  no  theory,  but  actuality, 
calling  for  good  common  sense.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  found  the  facts  of  life  making  mockery  of  the 
most  convincing  theories  about  it.  Presently  she  felt  that 
Basil  was  in  the  window  farthest  from  her,  was  watching 
her — probably  with  the  same  loving,  despairing  expres- 
sion she  had  often  seen  without  a  suspicion  that  it  was  for 
her. 

"  Where's  Richard  ?  "  inquired  she,  not  looking  in  his 
direction. 

"  In  the  library." 

"  You've  upset  him  dreadfully." 

"  I'm  sorry.  But  things  will  soon  adjust  themselves." 
He  advanced  a  step,  was  visible  now  in  the  half  darkness, 
looked  pallidly  handsome  in  his  becoming  dinner  suit.  "  A 
few  weeks  at  most,"  he  went  on,  somewhat  huskily,  "  and 
I'll  be  the  vaguest  sort  of  a  memory  here." 

She  was  glad  her  back  was  toward  him  and  that  the 
twilight  had  darkened  into  dusk.  Of  course,  he  did  not 
really  love  her.  It  was  simply  another  case  of  a  man's 
being  isolated  with  a  woman  and  his  head  getting  full  of 
sentimental  fancies.  Still —  While  his  love  was  not  real, 
and  therefore  its  pain  largely  imaginary,  the  pain  no  doubt 
seemed  real,  and  the  love,  too.  So  she  was  sad  for  him — 
very  sad.  As  soon  as  she  felt  sure  of  her  voice,  she  said: 
"Won't  you  please  light  the  big  lamp  for  me?  I 
wore  a  negligee  this  evening  because  I  wanted  to  sew. 
I'm  making  a  suit  for  Winchie — like  one  I  saw  in  a  French 
magazine." 

He  lit  the  lamp  beside  the  table  where  she  worked  in 
the  evenings  when  she  did  not  go  to  her  own  room.  "  Any- 
thing else  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  sit  and  talk  to  me." 
114 


"  I  couldn't  talk  this  evening." 

"  Then  sit  and  smoke." 

She  began  her  work,  he  smoking  in  the  deep  shadow 
near  the  window.  She  could  hardly  see  him;  he  could  see 
every  wave  and  ripple  in  her  lovely  hair,  every  shift  of  the 
sweeping  dark  lashes,  every  change  in  that  sweet,  small 
face,  in  the  wide  wistful  mouth.  Even  better  than  playing 
on  the  piano,  sewing  brings  out  the  charm  of  delicate, 
skillful  fingers.  She  did  not  need  to  look  at  him  to  feel 
his  gaze,  its  longing,  its  hopelessness.  And  never  before 
had  she  thought  of  him  in  such  a  partial,  personal  way — 
the  way  a  woman  must  feel  toward  the  man  she  knows 
loves  her,  even  though  she  only  likes  him. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do,  how  to  deal 
practically  with  this  situation.  But  she  had  to  struggle 
with  her  timidity  before  she  could  set  about  the  audacious 
experiment  she  had  planned  and  resolved.  She  had  long 
had  the  frankness  of  thought  that  is  inseparable  from  intel- 
ligence. The  courage  to  speak  her  thoughts  was  as  yet  in 
the  bud.  "  Do  you  mind  my  speaking  again  of  what  you 
were  saying  this  afternoon?  "  said  she  as  she  sewed  indus- 
triously. 

"  No,"  said  he. 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  it.  At  first  I  was  startled — 
very  much  startled.  But  I  soon  began  to  look  at  it  sensibly. 
I  want  you  to  stay.  Richard  wants  you  to  stay.  There's 
no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  stay  and  conquer  your 
delusion." 

"  It's  no  delusion." 

"  Real  love  is  always  mutual.  So  yours  must  be 
delusion."  She  was  pointing  a  thread  for  the  eye  of  the 
needle.  "  You've  led  a  very — very  man  sort  of  life,  haven't 
you?" 

115 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

He  shifted  uncomfortably,  then  confessed :  "  You 
know  the  standards  for  men  are  different  from  those  for 
women." 

She  smiled,  threaded  the  needle.  "  Yes,  I  know.  I 
don't  understand,  but  I  know.  You  needn't  explain. 
I  don't  want  to  understand.  It  doesn't  interest  me. 
As  I  was  about  to  say — "  Her  courage  failed  her,  and 
she  sewed  a  while  in  silence.  At  last  she  dared.  It  was 
with  no  sign  of  inward  disturbance,  but  the  contrary,  that 
she  went  on :  "  You've  been  shut  in  here  too  long.  Go 
to  your  old  haunts  for  a  few  days.  You'll  come  back 
cured." 

She  had  practiced  saying  it,  this  advice  which  she  be- 
lieved wise  and  necessary  in  the  circumstances.  She  said  it 
in  calm,  matter-of-fact  fashion;  and  it  was  the  less  difficult 
for  her  to  do  so  because,  in  thought  at  least,  she  had  long 
since  emancipated  herself  from  what  she  regarded  as  the 
hypocrisies  of  modesty,  and  had  taught  herself  to  look  at 
all  things  rationally  and  humanly.  She  knew  her  frank- 
ness would  not  please  him;  so  she  was  not  surprised  when 
after  a  pause  he  said  roughly,  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  you 
say  that  sort  of  thing." 

She  laughed  pleasantly,  put  quite  at  ease  by  his  im- 
pertinence. "  And  I  don't  in  the  least  care  whether  you 
approve  of  me  or  not.  You  men  seem  to  think  you've  got 
a  sort  of  general  roving  commission  to  superintend  the 
propriety  of  women." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Certainly.  Give  me  that  pair  of  scissors — on  the 
stand  in  the  corner." 

He  rose,  issued  from  the  deep  shadow.  She  could  now 
see  into  what  confusion  her  words  had  thrown  him.  The 
hand  that  held  out  the  scissors  was  trembling.  He  moved 

116 


to  go  upon  the  -veranda.      "  Please,"  said  she.     "  I'm  not 
nearly  done.     Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

He  seated  himself. 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on  lightly,  busy  with  her  hem 
again,  "  I  know  your  awful  secret." 

"  You've  no  right  to  laugh  at  me,"  muttered  he. 

"  I'm  not  laughing  at  you.  .  .  .  I'm  only  looking  at  it 
in  a  friendly,  practical  way.  ...  I  want  to  help  you.  .  .  . 
Why  are  you  going  away?  " 

She  sewed  on,  feeling  his  emotion  gather  behind  his 
self-control.  The  stillness  was  unbroken.  A  light  breeze, 
cool  and  scented,  came  fluttering  in  at  the  open  windows 
to  play  with  the  soft  brilliant  hair  that  grew  so  beautifully 
round  her  temples.  In  a  low  voice,  so  low  that  she  scarcely 
heard,  his  answer  at  last  came :  "  Because  I  love  you.  I 
love  you  and  I  am  not  a  cur." 

Her  needle  missed  its  way  into  the  cloth,  pierced  her 
finger.  She  put  the  wounded  finger  in  her  mouth.  WThen 
she  looked  toward  him  she  was  smiling.  "  Still  you've  not 
answered  my  question.  Because  you  think  you  care  for 
me — that's  no  reason  why  you  should  go." 

"  I  can't  control  myself.  I — "  He  made  a  gesture  of 
helplessness.  "  I  can't  think  of  you  as — as  married.  You 
seem  like  a  girl  to  me — free.  I  keep  forgetting." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  occur  to  you  that  /  might  be  trusted 
to  remember." 

"  I  know,"  said  he  humbly. 

She  held  the  garment  at  arms'  length,  eyeing  the  hem 
critically.  "  No,  you  don't.  You're  like  all  the  men.  You 
fancy  weak  woman  can  always  be  overborne  by  man,  big 
and  strong  and  superior." 

"  You  wrong  me." 

"  WThy  else  should  you  talk  of  going  away?  " 
117 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Because  it's  torment  to  me  to  be  near  you — to 

She  stopped  sewing,  looked  at  him  with  anger  in  her 
deep  green  eyes.  "  Then  your  feeling  is  just  what  I 
thought." 

"It  is  not !    It  is  love !  " 

Again  she  sewed  a  long  time  in  silence.  It  was  very 
calm  there,  in  that  quiet  room  with  its  flowers  and  taste- 
ful, gracefully  arranged  furniture,  and  the  single  lamp  like 
a  jewel  shedding  all  its  radiances  upon  her  small  indus- 
trious figure.  "  Then  tell  me,"  she  said  in  her  sweet, 
gentle  way,  without  looking  up  or  pausing,  "  what  do  you 
want  that  you  cannot  have?  You  can  see  me  as  much 
as  you  like.  You  can  talk  as  freely  as  you  like.  You  can 
count  on  sympathy,  on  friendship.  And,  if  you  want  to, 
you  can  keep  right  on  loving  me  in  that  exalted  way  you 
profess.  Nobody's  going  to  hinder  you." 

She  sewed  on  in  silence,  he  motionless  watching  her, 
perplexity  in  his  honest,  rather  boyish  face.  After  a  while 
her  voice  broke  the  silence.  "  Love !  "  She  laughed  with 
raillery  that  did  not  sting.  "  My  dear  friend,  don't  you 
see  I  was  right?  Go  away  for  a  few  days  and " 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  suggest  that  again." 

"  Then  don't  say  it's  love  that  makes  you  want  to  leave 
and  upset  everything."  She  put  the  needles,  thread,  and 
thimble  into  her  workbox,  rolled  up  the  little  suit,  rose. 
"  It's  always  the  same  story,"  she  said,  sad  rather  than 
bitter.  "  A  woman  means  only  one  thing  to  a  man.  Yes, 
I  think  you  had  best  go." 

"  You're  too  severe,"  he  cried.  "  It's  true  there's  such 
a  thing  as  passion  without  love.  And  I'll  admit  that  I,  like 
all  men,  have  felt  it  often — have  lied  to  myself  as  well  as 
to  the  woman — and  have  called  it  love.  But  it's  also  true 
that  there's  no  love  without  some  passion — at  least,  you 

118 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

couldn't  hope  to  inspire  it.  And  though  in  your  innocence 
you  may  think  so,  you'd  not  want  to  have  less  than  all  love 
has  to  give — if  you  loved." 

Her  eyes,  large  and  softly  brilliant,  were  burning  into 
the  darkness  beyond  the  open  window.  "  I'm  not  inno- 
cent," she  said.  "  And  I  try  not  to  be  a  hypocrite.  If  I 
loved,  I'd  want  all." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  she  at  the  window  gazing  out 
into  the  gathering  night.  Then  he  said :  "  You  were  right. 
It  was  not  love  that  made  me  feel  like  flight.  I  can  con- 
quer that  feeling.  Will  you  let  me  stay  ?  " 

She  turned  slowly.  In  the  look  she  fixed  on  him  there 
was  doubt,  hesitation.  "  You've  made  me  a  little  uneasy — 
a  little  afraid." 

In  his  eagerness  he  sprang  up.  "  Don't !  "  he  cried. 
"  Don't  send  me  away.  I'll  never  speak  of  love  again. 
You've  taught  me  my  lesson." 

"  I  do  want  you  to  stay,"  said  she.  "  It'd  seem  very 
lonely  here  with  you  gone.  For  I've  come  to  depend  on 
you  as  a  friend.  It  hurts  to  find  you  seeking  your  own 
selfish  pleasure  under  the  pretense  of  a  feeling  for  me." 

He  winced — not  because  he  felt  scandalized  by  her  can- 
dor, but  because  he  felt  convicted  by  it.  "  How  well  you 
understand  men !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Better  than  they  un- 
derstand themselves." 

"  In  that  one  way  I  do,"  was  her  reply,  an  arresting 
hardness  in  the  deep  voice  that  was  usually  altogether 
sweet.  These  last  few  days  she  was  understanding  a  great 
many  things  about  the  relations  of  men  and  women — or, 
perhaps,  was  letting  herself  realize  that  she  understood 
them. 

He  lowered  his  eyes,  that  he  might  not  read  her 
thoughts,  that  she  might  not  read  the  same  thoughts  in 

119 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

his  own  mind.  "  You  often  make  me  think  of  the  lake 
out  there,"  said  he.  "  There's  the  surface  one  sees  at  a 
glance.  Then  there's  a  little  distance  below  the  surface, 
that  one  sees  when  he  looks  intently  straight  down.  And 
then  there's  fathoms  on  fathoms  where  all  sorts  of  strange 
things — strange  thoughts  and  feelings — lie  hid.  Some- 
times— for  an  instant — one  of  them  shows  or  almost 
shows  at  the  surface." 

"  When  one  lives  alone  a  great  deal,  one  gets  the  habit 
of  living  within  oneself — don't  you  think?  " 

"  I  suppose  that's  it — partly.  A  brook  couldn't  hide 
very  much — and  most  people  are  like  brooks  or  ponds. 
The  ones  that  seem  to  have  depth  seem  so  simply  because 
the  water's  muddy." 

She  looked  admiringly  at  him;  and  her  admiration  of 
his  originality  and  insight  did  not  lessen  when  he  added, 
"  At  least,  so  a  friend  of  mine  used  to  say."  He  returned 
to  the  subject.  "Then — I  may  stay?" 

Her  face  brightened.  In  her  eyes  as  they  looked  at 
him  a  smile  slowly  dawned.  Quickly  all  her  features  were 
responding,  especially  that  wide,  expressive  fascinating 
mouth.  "  I  hope  you  will.  But — no  more  dreariness !  " 

"  I  hate  gloom  as  much  as  you  do."  He  glanced  round 
the  room — at  the  harmonies  of  woodwork  and  walls  and 
furnishing,  with  here  and  there  bright  flowers  always  in 
the  restraint  of  those  of  gentle  hue.  "  As  much  as  you 
do,"  repeated  he.  "  And  that's  saying  a  great  deal.  How 
do  you  manage  it! — house  and  garden,  always  gay  yet 
never  gaudy — and  such  variety!  Is  there  no  end  to  your 
variety  ?  " 

"  Oh,  one's  a  new  person  every  day,  isn't  one  ? — and 
different." 

"  You  certainly  are.  But  no  one  else  I  ever  saw."  He 
120 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

colored  furiously  at  his  finding  himself,  without  intending 
it,  upon  the  forbidden  ground.  She  had  turned  away,  and 
was  leaving  the  room — the  safest  course,  since  it  enabled 
her  to  hide  her  pleasure  in  the  compliment  that  peculiarly 
appealed  to  her,  and  also  seemed  to  give  him  a  sufficient 
yet  not  harsh  rebuke. 

Her  aversion  to  restraint  was  perhaps  stronger  than  is 
the  average  woman's — certainly  had  more  courage.  She 
had  been  too  thoroughly  trained  in  the  conventionalities 
not  to  have  the  familiar  timidity  as  to  action,  so  strong 
in  all  conventionally  bred  people,  so  dominant  over  women. 
But  the  "  unhand-me  "  spirit  of  her  time  was  finding  out- 
let in  thought  and  feeling.  Reflecting  much  in  her  alone- 
ness,  she  had  reached  many  audacious  conclusions  about 
life  and  the  true  meaning  of  its  comedy  drama — that  mean- 
ing so  different  from  what  we  pretend,  from  what  usually 
passes  as  truth  in  history,  philosophy,  and  literature,  based 
as  they  are  upon  man's  cheap  hankering  for  idealistic  strut. 
The  audacities  of  thought  that  occasionally  showed  at  her 
surface  in  speech  or  commentary  of  smiling  eyes  and  lips 
were  conventional  in  comparison  with  whole  schools  of 
deep-swimming  ideas  and  fancies  that  kept  hours  of  alone- 
ness  from  being  hours  of  loneliness.  Physically,  her  pas- 
sion for  freedom  showed  itself  in  her  dislike  of  tight  or 
stuffy  garments.  She  could  pass  her  hand  round  her  waist 
inside  her  closest-fitting  corset.  Her  liking  for  few  clothes 
and  for  as  little  yoke  and  sleeves  as  custom  allowed  came 
not  from  the  thought  for  the  other  sex  that  often  explains 
this  taste,  but  from  aversion  to  restraint. 

As  usual,  the  first  thing  she  did  that  night,  when  she 
was  alone  in  her  rooms,  was  to  rid  herself  of  all  her  cloth- 
ing and  put  on  the  thinnest  of  thin  white  nightgowns, 
almost  sleeveless,  and  cut  out  at  the  neck.  She  thrust  her 

121 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

feet  into  bedroom  slippers,  braided  her  long  hair  with  its 
strands  of  red  almost  brown,  with  its  strands  of  brown 
almost  gold.  She  turned  out  the  light,  threw  open  all  the 
long  shutters  screening  her  windows,  to  let  her  bedroom 
fill  with  warm,  perfumed  freshness  from  lake  and  gardens. 
She  stepped  out  on  the  balcony  to  take  the  breathing  ex- 
ercises that  kept  her  body  straight,  her  chest  high,  her 
bosom  firm  as  a  girl's,  and  her  form  slim  and  supple. 
The  fireflies  were  floating  and  darting  in  the  creepers  and 
the  near-hanging  boughs.  The  slight  agitations  of  the 
air  stole  among  the  folds  of  her  gown  and  over  her  neck 
and  arms  like  charmed  fingers.  There  was  no  moon;  but 
she  did  not  miss  it  in  the  dim  splendor  of  the  thronging 
stars. 

"  Aren't  you  about  ready  to  come  in  ?  " 

She  startled,  suppressed  a  scream.  She  turned.  Rich- 
ard was  standing  in  the  window.  Her  blood  which  had 
rushed  to  her  heart  surged  out  again  and  into  her  brain 
in  an  angry  wave.  She  hated  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 
It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  cry  furiously,  "  I  detest 
being  spied  upon."  But  she  had  resolved  soon  after 
Winchie  was  born  never  to  speak  angrily  to  him,  never  to 
let  him  hear  her  speak  angrily.  The  habit  restrained  her 
now,  as  it  had  scores  of  times.  Instead,  she  said :  "  Why, 
how  did  you  get  in?  I'm  sure  I  locked  my  door." 

"  So  you  did,"  replied  Dick  in  the  cheerful  unconscious 
way  that  so  irritated  her  in  certain  moods.  Not  always 
could  she  bear  with  composure  his  masculine  assumption 
that  whatever  pleased  him  must  delight  his  wife.  "  So  you 
did,"  said  he.  "  And  it's  still  locked.  But  there  was  the 
window  from  the  front  balcony  into  your  sitting  room — 
and  the  door  from  your  sitting  room  to  this  room.  You 
see,  I  was  determined  to  find  you." 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

His  tone  of  laughing  tenderness  helped  her  half  to 
guess,  half  to  make  out  his  expression.  Usually  she  ac- 
cepted without  a  protesting  thought  the  whole  of  the 
routine  of  married  life.  But  to-night  she  grew  hot  with 
a  burning  blush  of  imperiled  modesty  as  he  advanced 
toward  her.  "  Don't/'  she  said;  "  I'm  doing  my  exercises." 

"  No — you  were  dreaming.  Of  what  ?  "  Then,  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer  about  a  matter  of  so  little  impor- 
tance, "  Gallatin  tells  me  he  has  decided  to  stay  on — if  he 
can  arrange  it — and  he  seems  to  think  he  can.  So  I'm 
feeling  fine.  You  don't  know  what  a  jolt  he  gave  me  at 
supper.  Did  you  talk  with  him  about  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Urged  him  to  stay?  " 

"  I  tried  to  show  him  he  ought  to  stay." 

"  Ever  so  much  obliged." 

She  stopped  in  her  exercises  to  say  quickly :  "  Oh,  1 
didn't  do  it  for  you.  I  did  it  for  myself." 

"  Why,  you  dislike  him." 

"  He's  some  one  to  talk  with — some  one  that  listens  and 
answers.  And — I  don't  dislike  him." 

Richard  laughed.  "  That's  right.  Try  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  Well,  if  you're  not  coming  in " 

"  Not  for  an  hour  or  longer." 

"  Then — good  night.  I  must  be  up  early.  I  think  I'll 
sleep  down  at  the  Smoke  House.  I'm  so  glad  about  Galla- 
tin— just  as  much  obliged  as  if  you'd  done  it  for  me. 
And  I  believe  you  did."  He  put  his  arms  round  her  to 
kiss  her  good  night.  As  soon  as  his  lips  touched  her  cheek 
she  drew  away,  disengaged  herself.  "  What's  the  matter, 
Courtney?  "  She  had  long  since  learned  that  for  all  his 
absent-mindedness  and  ignoring  of  things  that  didn't  direct- 
ly interest  him,  he  became  as  sensitive — and  as  accurate — 

123 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

as  photographic  plate  to  light,  the  instant  his  attention 
happened  to  be  caught.  "What's  the  matter?  Why  do 
you  draw  away  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  replied  she — truthfully,  yet  with  a 
sense  of  being  untruthful.  "  I  seem  not  to  like  to  be 
touched  to-night." 

"  I  don't  remember  you  being  that  way  before." 
She  went  on  with  her  exercises;  he  yawned  and  de- 
parted. 


VIII 

THE  morning  after  Courtney  and  Basil  came  to  this 
clear  and  promising  understanding,  she  got  down  to  the 
seven-o'clock  breakfast  perhaps  ten  minutes  late.  She  ex- 
pected to  find  the  two  men  and  Winchie  there,  and  was 
thinking  of  asking  Gallatin  to  go  to  town  with  her  and 
Winchie.  When  she  entered  the  dining  room,  there  was 
the  table  in  its  usual  morning  place,  in  the  wide-flung  door 
windows  to  the  east,  and  at  it  sat  Winchie  only,  sunbeams 
sifting  through  the  trellised  morning  glories  to  dance  upon 
his  shock  of  tawny  hair. 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  "  she  asked. 

Winchie,  forgetful  of  his  teaching,  had  his  mouth  full, 
far  too  full  for  immediate  speech — unless  he  gulped  it 
empty,  and  that  would  have  been  breaking  another  rule. 
So  Lizzie,  who  was  just  entering  from  the  kitchen  hall, 
answered :  "  Mr.  Richard  telephoned  up  at  half  past  six, 
and  made  me  wake  Mr.  Gallatin.  They  had  breakfast  down 
at  the  Smoke  House  long  ago." 

Winchie  had  climbed  from  his  high  chair  and  had  come 
round  to  kiss  his  mother  good  morning.  He  was  dressed 
for  the  trip  to  town — all  white  except  dark  blue  edging 
round  his  wide  collar,  and  a  dark  blue  belt.  His  features 
suggested  his  father's  and  his  mother's,  yet  were  those  of 
neither.  That  morning  their  usual  suggestions  of  will  and 
character  were  lost  in  a  general  expression  of  sweet  good 
humor.  He  looked  a  sturdy  bronzed  cherub.  After  search- 
ing his  mother's  face  with  those  inquiring,  seeing  eyes  of 
9  125 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

his,  he  said:  "  Mamma's  happy  this  morning/'  and  resumed 
breakfast. 

"  Indeed  she  is !  "  exclaimed  Courtney. 

She  drew  the  bowl  of  yellow  daisies  and  pink-white 
mountain  holly  from  the  center  of  the  table,  and  fell  to 
rearranging  them.  Each  blossom  seemed  to  glide  into  just 
its  right  position,  as  if  there  were  magic  in  her  fingers. 
She  could  not  remember  when  she  had  felt  quite  so  con- 
tent and  hopeful.  And  her  spirits  rose  as  the  day  ad- 
vanced. On  the  way  to  town  she  stopped  at  the  Vauglian 
farm  across  the  highroad  to  inquire  into  a  slight  falling 
off  in  quality  of  butter  and  milk.  She  had  never  seen  the 
farm  so  fascinating.  The  very  dock  weed  and  dog  fennel 
carpeting  the  barnyard  had  an  air  and  a  charm.  And 
the  road  to  town,  as  she  and  Winchie  sped  along  in 
the  runabout — what  a  shady  lane  through  Paradise  it 
was !  In  town  everyone  seemed  so  agreeable,  so  glad 
to  see  her.  After  lunch  with  Sarah  Carpenter,  she 
shopped,  made  several  calls.  They  did  not  start  home 
until  late,  and  supper  was  on  the  table  when  they  ar- 
rived. At  the  table — always  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
for  the  evening  meal,  and  formally  set — at  the  table  was 
Richard,  alone,  eating  and  figuring  on  his  everlasting  yel- 
low pad. 

"  Hello ! "  said  he,  with  barely  a  glance  away  from 
his  pencil  point.  "  Glad  to  have  company." 

"  Where's  Mr.  Gallatin  ?  "  asked  Winchie. 

"  Gone,"  was  Dick's  curt  answer  in  the  tone  of  an 
interrupted  man.  "  I  sent  him  away." 

Courtnej-,  crossing  the  room,  halted.  A  moment  of 
horrible  silence.  "  Gone !  "  she  echoed  hoarsely,  her  eyes 
wide,  as  if  a  monster  had  suddenly  appeared  open-jawed 
in  her  very  face.  "  You — sent — him  away !  " 

126 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Vaughan,  without  looking  up,  said:  "  Vr'hat  did  you 
say?  " 

With  her  hand  on  her  heart,  "  I  thought  I  understood 
you  to  say  Mr.  Gallatin  had  gone." 

"  So  he  has.     For  a  few  days." 

"Oh!"  Courtney  drew  a  vast  breath  of  relief.  She 
felt  a  tugging  at  her  skirt,  glanced  down.  It  was  Winchie, 
looking  up  at  her  with  an  expression  of  terror;  and  she 
knew  she  must  have  revealed  herself  in  her  face.  Her 
pale  cheeks  flooded  with  color.  She  sank  into  her  chair 
opposite  her  husband.  She  could  lie  to  herself,  cheat  her- 
self, no  longer.  "  How  much  Basil  means  to  me !  "  she 
muttered.  Then,  in  terror,  she  glanced  round,  for  she  felt 
as  if  she  had  shouted  it.  But  Vaughan  was  at  his  unend- 
ing calculations.  Only  Winchie  saw.  Only  Winchie! 
There  was  a  look  in  his  great  gray-green  eyes,  a  look  of 
the  accusing  angel,  that  made  her  hang  her  head  while  the 
dark  red  burned  upon  her  whole  body. 

"  He'll  be  back  Thursday  or  Friday,"  continued 
Vaughan,  tossing  the  pad  into  the  window  seat,  a  dozen 
feet  away. 

"  You  sent  him  on  business  ?  "  inquired  she,  to  make 
conversation. 

"  He  wanted  to  go  to  Pittsburg,  so  he  told  me.  I  guess 
it's  some  girl.  I  suspect  our  '  dressy  '  friend  of  being  a 
ladies'  man.  He  takes  too  much  trouble  about  his  clothes 
— and  silk  underclothes !  Anyhow,  I  let  him  go." 

She  sat  there,  the  food  untouched,  her  blood  pounding 
at  her  temples,  at  her  finger  ends.  For  she  was  remem- 
bering her  advice  to  Basil  when  she  was  trying  both  to 
persuade  him  to  stay  and  to  deceive  herself  as  to  why  she 
intensely  wished  him  to  stay.  And  now,  on  her  advice — 
on  the  advice  of  the  woman  who  loved  him — he  was  jour- 

127 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

neying — even  as  she  sat  quietly  there  at  supper  in  re- 
spectable calm — he  was  journeying  to  his  "  old  haunts  " 
— to  some  woman — he  who  belonged  to  her !  Such  a  wild 
tempest  raged  in  her  that  she  wondered  how  she  could 
sit  motionless,  why  she  was  not  walking  the  floor  and 
crying  out.  With  another  woman !  Oh,  the  vileness  of 
men !  "  And  I  was  beginning  to  care  for  him ! "  she 
said  to  herself.  "  He's  like  the  rest — worse  than  most. 
How  many  men  are  there  who'd  dare  talk  of  love  to 
a  woman  like  me,  and  then  go  jauntily  away  to  a  low 
woman  ?  " 

She  went  upstairs  immediately  after  supper,  shut  her- 
self in.  She  moved  calmly  about;  she  took  her  exercises; 
she  read  for  several  hours  before  turning  out  her  light. 
But  beneath  a  surface  that  could  have  been  no  more  tran- 
quil had  she  been  observed  and  on  guard,  chaos  reigned. 
One  tempest  succeeded  another  —  anger  against  Basil, 
against  herself — disgust,  scorn,  jealousy — and,  before  she 
slept,  she  had  seen  that  in  reality  all  these  moods  were 
jealousy  under  different  forms.  The  following  morning, 
when  the  coast  was  clear,  she  slipped  into  his  room,  knelt 
by  his  untouched  bed,  cried  upon  its  pillosw.  This  humil- 
ity soon  wept  itself  out,  however;  she  flung  herself  into  her 
work.  "  Nonsense !  I  don't  care  for  him.  It's  simply 
pique — and  outraged  friendship.  How  coarse  men  are !  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  mamma  ?  "  said  Winchie,  who  was 
following  her  about  the  garden,  looking  after  insects  and 
dead  leaves.  Than  his  there  never  was  a  keener  eye  for 
signs  of  the  red  spider. 

"  Why,  dear?  " 

"  You  treat  the  flowers  as  if  you  wanted  to  hurt  them." 

"  Your  mamma  is  in  a  very  naughty  humor  this  morn- 
ing." 

128 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  And  you  were  so  happy  yesterday.  Is  it  because 
Mr.  Gallatin's  gone  away?  " 

Courtney,  flushing  deeply,  looked  hastily  round.  "  Sh ! 
You  mustn't  say  those  things !  " 

"Why  not?" 

Already  she  was  teaching  the  boy  to  conceal !  "  I  didn't 
mean  that,  Winchie,"  said  she.  "  You  are  to  say  whatever 
you  please — as  always." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  like  Mr.  Gallatin.  I  don't  like 
him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  likes  you." 

"  You  wouldn't  want  anybody  not  to  like  your  mamma, 
would  you?  " 

"  No."  A  long  silence.  Then:  "  But  he  looks  at  you 
exactly  like  papa  does  when  he's  really  seeing  you." 

Courtney's  skin  burned.  The  same  story — always  the 
same!  "Well — dear — I'll  not  like  him." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  come  back." 

The  suggestion  set  her  heart  to  aching  with  loneliness. 
"  I  have  no  shame  and  no  pride,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  What  a  contemptible  creature  a  woman  is !  "  But  these 
sneers  availed  her  nothing.  As  she  sat  at  table — dinner  and 
supper — his  vacant  place  gave  her  a  sense  of  bereavement 
not  unlike  death  itself. 

Another  night  of  wakefulness  and  of  the  subtle  and 
varied  torments  known  only  to  those  blessed  and  cursed 
with  vivid  imagination.  What  if  he  should  not  come 
back !  That  was  the  final  and  cruelcst  twist  of  the  rack. 
Next  day,  it  was  all  day  long  as  if  the  silence  and  darkness 
of  the  night  were  still  suffocating  her.  The  house,  the 
grounds  seemed  a  desolation  of  despair.  What  if  he 
should  not  come  back!  A  drizzling  rain  fell,  and  she  sat 

129 


miserably  by  tlie  window,  unable  to  sew,  unable  to  read. 
And  at  the  first  sound  from  the  piano — the  melancholy 
notes  her  fingers  instinctively  struck — she  sprang  away  as 
if  a  hateful  ghost  had  breathed  on  her.  It  was  only 
Wednesday;  he  would  not  be  home  until  the  next  day — • 
probably  not  until  Friday — perhaps  not  then. 

She  put  fresh  flowers  in  vases  in  all  the  rooms  every 
day.  That  day  she  filled  the  vases  in  his  sitting  room 
with  the  best.  And  she  lingered  among  his  belongings, 
that  promised  his  return.  In  the  drawers,  his  nne  tasteful 
shirts  and  ties;  in  the  closets,  those  attractive  suits,  silk 
lined,  agreeable  to  the  touch,  varied  and  always  tasteful 
in  pattern.  She  went  back  to  his  books — to  the  poetry, 
of  which  he  was  particularly  fond.  The  volumes  fell  open 
naturally  at  poems  that  glorified  the  lofty,  the  spiritual 
side  of  love.  Then,  like  a  scorpion,  scuttled  across  the 
page  of  Browning's  "  Last  Ride  "  what  Winchie  had  said 
— "  He  looks  at  you  like  papa  does."  She  shuddered,  was 
all  dread  and  foreboding  again.  Was  there  no  such  thing 
in  man  as  love  for  woman,  but  only  its  coarse  and  lying 
counterfeit  ? 

She  heard  an  outside  door  open  noisily.  She  darted 
along  the  hall  and  down  to  the  angle  of  the  stairway,  to 
the  landing  from  which  the  drive-front  entrance  could  be 
seen.  She  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  looked.  She  drew 
back,  stopping  the  glad  cry  that  rose  to  her  lips;  for  it 
was  Basil.  With  features  composed  she  leaned  forward 
again.  His  soft  hat  and  his  rain  coat  were  dripping; 
evidently,  in  his  eagerness  to  arrive,  he  had  crossed  the 
lake  in  an  open  boat,  instead  of  coming  round  by  the  road 
in  a  closed  carriage.  He  was  gazing  toward  the  sitting- 
room  door  with  an  expression  that  thrilled  her — and  at 
the  same  time  gave  her  the  courage  to  treat  him  as  her 

ISO 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

self-respect     and     her     ideas      of     decency     in     a     man 
dictated. 

"  Back  already?  "  said  she  in  a  pleasant,  indifferent 
tone. 

He  turned,  looked  up  at  her,  his  face  alight.  "  How 
are  you?  "  he  cried.  "  It  seems  an  age." 

"  We  didn't  expect  you  for  several  days  yet,"  she  went 
on,  descending.  When  she  reached  the  hall,  he  was  wait- 
ing with  extended  hand.  "  It  is  good  to  be  here  again !  " 
said  he.  "  It  was  worth  going,  for  the  pleasure  of  getting 
back." 

She  shook  hands,  smiled  friendlily,  continued  on  her 
way  to  the  sitting  room.  He  hesitated,  an  uneasy  look 
in  his  eyes  that  did  not  escape  her.  He  put  his  hat  and 
coat  on  the  rack,  followed  her.  "  I  am  glad  to  be  back !  " 
said  he. 

She  laughed,  friendlily  enough,  but  her  baffling  manner 
only  increased  his  uneasiness.  "  We're  glad  to  have  you," 
was  her  polite  reply.  "If  you  want  to  go  to  your  room 
before  supper,  you'd  better  hurry." 

"  I've  been  doing  a  great  deal  of  thinking  while  I  was 
away." 

"  Really?     That's   good." 

"  I  see  you've  changed  your  mind — as  I  felt  you  would, 
when  I  thought  it  ever.  Your  first  impulse  was  to  be 
lenient.  But  when  you  fully  realized  what  a  dishonorable 
thing  it  was  for  me  to  do — to " 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  better  go  up  before  supper?" 

"  Not  till  I've  said  one  thing,"  replied  he  doggedly. 

"Well?" 

"  I  want  you  to  know  thr.t  you  can  trust  me  never  to 
repeat  my  offense.  I'd  go  to  Vaughan  and  tell  him  and 

ppologize " 

131 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 


"And,  pray,  what  has  Richard  to  do  with  it?"  in- 
quired she  coldly. 

"  I  understand/'  he  hastened  to  protest.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  speak  of  it  to  him.  It  might  put  unjust  suspicion 
of  you  in  his  head  -  " 

There  she  laughed  outright  at  him.  "  You  are  making 
yourself  perfectly  absurd,"  she  said,  and  turned  away  to 
go  into  the  dining  room. 

When  he  came  down,  the  others  were  at  table.  Dick, 
figuring  on  his  yellow  pad,  glanced  up,  rose,  greeted  him 
with  unprecedented  cordiality.  "  Why,  when  did  you  blow 
in  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  A  few  minutes  ago."  Gallatin  glanced  at  Courtney. 
The  quiet  mockery  of  her  absent  gaze  made  him  red  and 
awkward.  "  I  —  I  —  got  through  —  so  —  I  —  came,"  he  ex- 
plained with  stammering  lameness. 

"  Naturally,"  said  Dick.  He  had  taken  up  his  pencil. 
"  Make  yourself  at  home." 

Gallatin's  glance  fell  on  Winchie  frowning  at  him. 
"Howdy,  Winchie?"  said  he. 

The  boy  made  a  curt  bow,  resumed  his  supper.  He 
was  permitted  —  or,  rather,  under  Courtney's  system  of 
training  him  to  think  and  act  for  himself,  he  permitted 
himself  to  eat  only  certain  simple  things,  and  very  little 
of  them  —  and  he  was  wonderfully  sensible  about  it.  When 
he  finished  he  kissed  his  mother  good  night,  made  his  salute 
to  his  father  and,  almost  imperceptibly,  to  Gallatin,  and 
went  upstairs.  Gallatin  nerved  himself  to  several  efforts 
at  beginning  conversation  with  Courtney.  Each  time,  as  he 
glanced  up,  he  was  checked  and  flung  back  into  embar- 
rassed silence  by  seeing  in  her  absent  eyes  the  same  discon- 
certing mockery.  After  supper,  Richard  hurried  away  to 
the  library.  When  she  showed  that  she  was  going  upstairs, 

132 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Gallatin  detained  her.  "  One  moment,  please,"  he  pleaded 
humbly.  "  What  have  I  done  to  offend  you?  " 

Courtney  flushed.  But  the  raillery  came  back  instant- 
ly. "  I'm  not  offended.  I'm  amused." 

"At  what?  " 

"  At  you."  The  smile  broadened  charmingly.  "  So 
you've  had  a  successful  trip?" 

"  Yes — in  a  way." 

"  And  have  come  back  completely  cured." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  my  friend — if  you  will.  I  repeat, 
you  can  trust  me  now." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  dangerously.  "  It's  fortunate  I  un- 
derstand men — and  have  a  sense  of  humor." 

"  I  know  I  deserve  any  punishment  you  choose  to  give," 
said  he.  "  And  I'll  take  it.  Only — I  want  to  stay  on  here 
— and  to  have  your  friendship." 

She  studied  him  critically.  Her  expression  would  have 
been  trying  enough  in  its  penetrating  judicial  intelligence 
for  the  least  self-conscious  of  men.  It  utterly  disconcerted 
Basil,  bred  in  the  fashionable  world's  incessant  conscious- 
ness of  self.  But  in  his  desperation  he  withstood  her  look, 
returned  it  with  eyes  that  were  appealing  yet  not  abject. 
It  pleased  her  that  he  was  not  abject.  "  After  all,  you 
went  on  my  advice,  didn't  you?  "  said  she  in  a  friendlier 
tone.  "  And  you've  been  most  manlike — have  shown  your- 
self to  be  just  what  I  thought  you.  So  I'm  really  unrea- 
sonable." She  gave  him  her  hand.  "  Yes,  let  us  be 
friends." 

"  And  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

She  smiled  queerly.  "  That's  asking  too  much.  I  may 
— in  time.  Just  at  present — you've  made  me  feel  horribly 
cheap  and — common." 

He  hung  his  head.  "  If  you  knew  how  I've  suffered 
133 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

for  it/'   he   said.      "  I   was  afraid  you'd  send   me   away — 
would  never  see  me  again." 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it/'  cried  she,  angry  at  her  own 
weakness  in  not  meting  out  to  him  what  he  apparently  ex- 
pected and  certainly  deserved.  But  she  was  not  so  angry 
that  she  held  to  her  purpose  of  going  upstairs.  Instead, 
she  sat  at  the  piano  and  began  to  dash  off  the  noisiest 
pieces  she  knew. 


IX 

THE  friendship  now  throve  like  Courtney's  best-placed 
flower  bed.  She  had  always  been  healthy ;  so  she  had  not  a 
touch  of  "  temperament " — which  is  the  misleading  roman- 
tic name  for  internal  physical  conditions  anything  but 
romantic.  Most  of  those  who  have  mentality  have  also 
imperfect  health  through  neglect  of  physical  needs ;  and 
tire  sorcberer  shades,  the  grays  and  blue  blacks,  made  the 
more  melancholy  by  imagination,  usually  canopy  their  lives. 
But  with  her  it  was  not  so.  Always  healthy  in  body  and 
in  mind,  she  now  irradiated  perfume  and  color  like  the  rose 
that  is  getting  just  the  right  sun  and  rain. 

Late  in  that  summer  there  were  several  weeks  when  one 
perfect  day  followed  another  like  a  child's  dream  of  fairy- 
land. Vaughan  wished  to  work  alone,  dropped  completely 
out  of  their  life,  was  forgotten.  Every  day,  all  day  long, 
she  and  Basil  were  together,  he  helping  her  at  the  pas- 
time that  kept  house  and  grounds  beautiful.  She  was  one 
of  those  human  beings  who  abhor  disorder;  if  anything 
went  wrong  it  was  righted  at  once.  If  a  knob  came  off  a 
door  or  a  plant  withered,  she  could  not  rest  until  the  im- 
perfection was  remedied.  It  kept  her  incessantly  occupied, 
but  the  results  were  worth  the  pains  they  cost.  Her  imag- 
ination, stimulated  by  Basil,  planned  many  changes  in 
grounds  and  gardens,  changes  that  would  bring  the  place 
still  nearer  the  landscape  artist's  three  ideals — contrast, 
variety,  bounds  concealed.  And  she  and  Basil  together 
carried  out  these  alterations. 

Then  there  were  the  leisure  hours,  as  full  as  the  hours 
135 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

of  toil.  They — with  Winchie — strolled  in  the  woods  on 
the  farm,  across  the  highway,  and  picnicked  under  the  trees 
beside  the  brook,  or  in  the  shadow  of  some  gigantic  fern- 
covered  rock  left  on  a  hillside  by  the  retreating  glaciers 
of  the  ice  age.  Or,  they  went  out  on  the  lake,  Winchie 
fishing,  she  and  Gallatin  talking  in  low  tones  or  happy  in 
sympathetic  silence,  with  the  boat  moving  languidly  where 
the  shadows  of  the  great  weeping  willows  were  deepest, 
its  keel  troubling  the  dark  clear  waters  hardly  more  than 
a  floating  leaf. 

She  was  fond  of  talking,  he  of  listenirig.  And  she  had 
so  many  things  to  say — the  things  that  had  been  accumu- 
lating in  those  five  years  when  she  had  said  little,  had  read 
and  thought  much.  When  Basil  did  talk  it  was  usually 
of  what  he  had  experienced  in  his  wanderings  over  Europe 
and  Asia.  And,  as  she  had  been  everywhere  in  fancy 
through  her  reading,  she  drew  him  out  with  questions  that 
made  it  hard  for  him  to  believe  she  had  not  actually  viewed 
with  her  own  eyes.  He  seemed  a  wonderful  person  to  her, 
he  who  had  lived  in  the  world's  half  dozen  great  capitals, 
had  wandered  all  over  the  earth  and  had  seen  everything. 
Her  comments  astonished  him,  made  him  ashamed,  and 
privately  reverent  of  her  "  woman's  intutition.  No  won- 
der it's  considered  better  than  brains." 

"  I  wish  I'd  had  some  one  like  you  along  when  I  was 
chasing  about,"  said  he.  "  It  was  usually  horribly  dull, 
and  I  went  on  at  it  chiefly  because  I  was  always  hoping 
something  interesting  would  turn  up.  Now,  I  see  it  was 
turning  up  all  the  time.  You  have  a  light  way  of  looking 
at  things.  A  man  sees  only  the  serious  side." 

"  Oh,  it  couldn't  be  dull — not  anywhere  on  earth,"  in- 
sisted she. 

"  No — not  with — that  is,  with  somebody  like  you 
136 


along."  An  awkward  silence;  then,  "and  I  don't  see  how 
you  ever  learned  so  much  without  having  experience." 

"  I  don't  really  know  things/'  confessed  she.  "  I  just 
seem  to  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  frightfully  inno- 
cent." 

"  That's  the  beautiful  part  of  it,"  said  he  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  I  hate  it !  "  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  no,"  protested  he. 

"  Yes,  hate  it,"  she  insisted.  The  chief  pleasure  in  this 
friendship  with  him  was  that  it  gave  her  freedom  to  be 
herself,  to  be  frank.  She  would  not  let  him  spoil  it  for 
her,  as  Richard  had  in  their  early  married  days  spoiled 
even  the  times  of  closest  intimacy  with  formalism  and  re- 
straint. "  I  want  to  know — I  want  to  live,"  she  went  on, 
with  glowing,  eager  face.  "  I've  always  felt  proud  it  was 
the  woman  who  had  the  sense  to  eat  the  apple.  I  detest 
innocence.  I  love  life  \  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  mean  exactly  that." 

"  Just  that." 

"Even — sin?  "  This,  not  an  inquiry,  but  an  argument 
proving  her  beyond  question  in  the  wrong. 

But  she  replied  undauntedly:  "  It  seems  to  me,  the  only 
way  to  learn  is  by  doing  things.  And  doesn't  that  mean 
making  mistakes — sins,  as  you  call  it?  Life's  a  good  deal 
like  gardening.  You  have  to  do  it  wrong  first  in  order  to 
learn  how  to  do  it  right." 

"  That's  all  very  well  for  a  man.     But " 

She  was  giving  him  one  of  those  disconcerting  eerie 
glances  from  the  mysterious  eyes.  "  I've  got  to  live,  and 
in  the  same  world  you  have.  Also,  I've  got  to  bring  up  a 
boy  to  live  in  it." 

"  I  must  say,"  confessed  he,  "  I  don't  see  just  how  to 
137 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

meet  that."  And  she  accepted  the  answer  as  evidence 
of  his  broad-minded  sympathy.  She  did  not  realize  that 
he  was  anything  but  convinced,  but  was  simply  admitting 
the  "  light  cleverness  "  of  her  reply  and  was  too  eager 
about  standing  well  with  her  to  combat  her  "  queer  ideas." 

The  interruption  to  the  delights  of  this  friendship  came 
before  she  had  nearly  exhausted  his  novelty,  and  while  she 
was  still  as  uncritical  of  him  as  a  starving  man  of  the  cook- 
ing. However,  in  any  circumstances  it  would  have  been 
long  before  she  could  have  made  any  accurate  judgment 
of  him.  She  had  become  his  partisan;  and  a  generous 
nature  takes  the  most  favorable,  the  always  too  favora- 
ble, view  of  a  personality  to  which  it  is  attracted. 

Until  that  summer  Richard  had  been,  for  a  young  man, 
remarkably  careful  about  regularity  and  exercise.  At  the 
very  outset  of  his  task,  away  back  at  Johns  Hopkins,  seven 
years  before,  he  had  realized  that  he  was  in  for  an  investi- 
gation of  all  known  elements  in  every  possible  combina- 
tion— that  is,  for  a  long  and  hard  struggle  for  about  the 
most  jealously  guarded  of  nature's  secrets — the  origin  of 
heat.  And  he  knew  that,  if  he  was  to  win  any  victory 
worth  while,  he  must  resist  the  temptation  to  overwork, 
and  must  make  health  his  first  consideration.  And  al- 
though he  had  small  liking  for  physical  exercise  and  was 
as  little  fond  of  the  grind  of  regularity  as  the  next  man, 
he  had  kept  to  his  rules  for  himself  with  the  same  inflex- 
ible firmness  that  characterized  him  in  all  his  serious  pur- 
poses. But  Basil's  coming  with  the  additional  money  he 
had  needed,  and  the  help,  too,  tempted  him  beyond  his 
resistance.  In  exercise,  as  in  everything  else,  there  is  sys- 
tem or  there  is  nothing.  Before  Basil  had  been  there  a 
month  Richard  was  breaking  his  rules;  and  soon  the  whole 

138 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

system  went  by  the  board.  All  summer  he  had  not  exer- 
cised, and  he  ate  at  any  hours  or  not  at  all.  Such  a  re- 
versal of  a  long-established  routine  could  not  but  create 
an  immediate  internal  commotion.  There  were  no  physical 
surface  signs;  he  looked  the  same  as  always;  but  his  tem- 
per became  uncertain.  Where  he  had  been  simply  absent- 
minded  he  was  now  irascible  in  it.  Without  reason — ex- 
cept the  internal  physical  turmoil  he  himself  did  not  feel 
or  suspect — he  would  burst  from  abstraction  to  attack  Gal- 
latin  or  Courtney  or  Winchie  or  one  of  the  servants,  or  to 
rave  against  everything  and  everybody.  And  this  new 
Richard  appeared  at  just  the  time  when  it  would  stand 
out  in  sharpest,  most  odious  relief — most  dangerous  con- 
trast to  the  even  temper  of  Basil  Gallatin.  Under  the  stim- 
ulus of  her  friendship  with  Gallatin,  Courtney  had  got 
back  much  of  her  former  gayety.  Again  she  was  overflow- 
ing with  jest  and  laughter,  with  the  joy  she  seemed  to 
have  absorbed  from  the  bright  things  that  grew  or  flitted 
and  flew  in  her  gardens. 

The  change  in  Richard  came  rapidly,  yet  was  so  grad- 
ual that  its  cause  escaped  them  all.  It  is  not  in  human 
nature  to  be  inexhaustibly  patient  even  with  the  vagaries 
of  an  obvious  invalid.  Where  the  illness  is  unsuspected, 
patience  with  its  victim  soon  turns  to  gall.  This  new  de- 
velopment in  Richard's  character — for  Courtney  and  all 
the  others  assumed  it  was  character — changed  her  passive, 
almost  unsuspected  resentment  and  indifference  into  dislike 
that  could  easily  deepen  into  aversion. 

He  was  disagreeably  reminding  her  of  his  existence;  he 
was  saying  in  effect  "  Look  at  me !  "  She  looked.  She 
had  bowed  to  fate,  had  accepted  a  loveless  life  of  duty. 
She 'had  done  her  part  loyally.  She  had  made  a  home,  had 
kept  it  in  order,  had  submitted  whenever  his  physical  neces- 

139 


sities  began  to  distract  him  from  his  work.  Yes,  she  had 
accepted  all  the  degradation  without  a  murmur.  And  when 
love  had  come  to  her  unsought,  had  tempted  her,  she  had 
put  the  temptation  aside.  In  order  that  his  plans  might 
not  be  upset,  she  had  taken  the  hard  instead  of  the  easy 
way  to  combat  this  temptation,  had  let  Basil  Gallatin  stay 
on.  And  what  was  her  reward  ?  Whenever  Richard  spoke, 
it  was  to  say  something  disagreeable,  to  be  as  nearly  in- 
sulting as  a  well-bred  man  could  become. 

"  It's  perhaps  fortunate  for  Richard,"  reflected  she, 
"  that  Basil  showed  the  true  nature  of  his  love  in  that 
trip  to  Pittsburg.  For  what  do  I  owe  Richard  Vaughan? 
Is  there  any  woman  anywhere  who  does  not  in  her  heart 
feel  she'd  be  justified  in  doing  anything,  when  her  hus- 
band has  treated  her  as  mine  has  treated  me  ?  "  And  the 
obvious  answer — that  her  husband  was  the  normal  husband, 
that  it  was  she  who,  expecting  what  the  conventional  and 
customary  marriage  relation  did  not  contemplate  and  did 
not  provide,  was  in  the  wrong — this  answer  seemed  to  her 
no  answer  at  all,  but  an  insult  to  her  intelligence  and  her 
self-respect. 

Because  of  Vaughan's  rages  Gallatin  got  into  the  habit 
of  rising  from  the  table  as  soon  as  he  finished  and  leaving 
the  Vaughans  to  themselves.  Courtney,  with  the  sex  charm 
subtly  seducing  her  to  seek  and  exaggerate  merits  in  Basil, 
was  deeply  moved  by  this  thoughtfulness ;  for  it  increased 
her  humiliation  to  have  him  there  when  Richard  lost  con- 
trol of  himself.  One  evening,  as  they  finished  supper, 
Vaughan  was  suddenly  infuriated  by  the  stealthy  fiend  of 
indigestion  that  is  the  chief  cause  of  humanity's  faults  of 
temperament,  from  morbidness  to  acute  mania.  He  burst 
out  at  Gallatin — sprang  from  absent-mindedness  with  ffam-. 
ing  eyes  like  a  madman  from  ambush.  "  You  messed  every- 

140 


thing  to-day !  "  cried  this  unsuspected  and  unconscious  in- 
valid, sicker  far  than  many  a  one  in  bed  with  doctors  and 
nurses.  "  You  simply  raised  the  devil.  Another  day  or 
so  like  it,  and  I'll  not  let  you  come  into  the  shop." 

Gallatin  made  no  reply. 

"  I  suppose  you're  cursing  me,"  fumed  Richard. 
"  That's  the  way  it  always  is.  The  whole  world's  mad  on 
the  subject  of  self-excuse.  Somebody  else  is  always  to 
blame,  and  criticism  is  always  an  outrage." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Gallatin,  and  Courtney  knew  his 
self-control  was  wholly  for  her  sake.  "  I  was  stupid  to- 
day, Vaughan.  It  was  wholly  my  fault.  I  know  I  came 
near  blowing  up  the  shop  and  sending  us  both  to  kingdom 
come " 

An  exclamation  of  terror  from  Courtney  halted  him. 
She  was  pale,  was  looking  with  frightened,  questioning  eyes 
from  one  man  to  the  other. 

Vaughan  blazed  again.  "  There  you  go !  "  cried  he  to 
Gallatin.  "  Now,  she'll  think  I'm  at  something  as  dan- 
gerous as  a  powder  factory — when,  in  fact 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mrs.  Vaughan,"  interrupted  Gallatin. 
"  It  was  my  stupidity  that  made  all  the  danger.  Really, 
we  do  nothing  that  ought  to  be  dangerous." 

"  That's  not  true,"  said  Courtney  quietly.  "  I  know 
the  truth  now.  And  I  never  thought  of  it  before !  "  She 
could  not  understand  how  she  had  been  so  unthinking;  it 
was  another,  an  unexpected  measure  of  the  cleavage  be- 
tween Richard's  life  and  hers. 

"  You'd  better  confine  your  attention  to  things  you  un- 
derstand," said  Vaughan.  "  It  was  all  Gallatin's  folly,  I 
assure  you." 

"  That's  the  truth,  Mrs.  Vaughan,"  said  Gallatin  ear- 
nestly.    "  The  whole  truth." 
10 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

She  said  no  more,  but  her  face  showed  she  did  not 
believe  him.  Gallatin,  depressed  and  remorseful,  went  out 
on  the  veranda,  strolled  down  toward  the  lake.  Vaughan 
sat  on,  pulling  savagely  at  his  cigar.  He  was  enraged  be- 
cause his  outburst  had  caused  the  disclosure  of  the  secret 
he  had  intended  to  keep  from  her,  had  given  her  a  false 
idea  which,  as  she  was  a  woman,  a  creature  of  notions  and 
whirns,  nothing  could  ever  correct.  He  forgot  his  fine 
philosophy  about  self-excuse,  and  turned  his  rage  from  him- 
self to  her.  "  It's  really  all  your  fault,"  he  exclaimed, 
glowering  at  her. 

Winchie,  seated  between  his  father  and  mother,  took 
up  his  knife  and  raised  it  threateningly  against  his  father, 
his  gray-green  eyes  ablaze. 

In  another  mood  Vaughan  would  have  been  secretly  de- 
lighted, would  have  gravely  accepted  the  rebuke  and  made 
apology  to  the  boy  and  to  Courtney.  But  the  devil — the 
realest  devil  that  torments  spirit  through  flesh — was  in 
him  that  night,  was  on  the  prowl.  He  pointed  his  cigar 
at  the  infuriated  child.  "What's  the  meaning  of  this?" 
he  demanded. 

"  Winchie,"  said  Courtney,  in  a  low,  firm  voice. 

The  boy's  eyes  shifted  from  father  to  mother. 

"  Put  down  that  knife,  go  upstairs  and  go  to  bed." 

Son  and  mother  looked  at  each  other  fully  ten  sec- 
onds; the  boy  lowered  the  knife,  laid  it  on  the  table,  de- 
scended from  his  chair,  marched  haughtily  from  the  room. 
When  he  was  gone  Vaughan  said:  "  You  should  have  made 
him  apologize  to  me." 

Courtney  did  not  reply.  She  was  pulling  out  the  bows 
of  the  flowing  tie  she  was  wearing  under  the  loose  collar 
of  her  shirt  waist. 

"  I'll  have  Lizzie  bring  him  back," 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


"  No,"  said  Courtney,  and  her  eyes  met  his.  "  You 
will  not  interfere  with  Winchie.  I  do  not  interfere  with 
your  work." 

"  But  you  do !  "  Richard  burst  out.  "  It's  your  inter- 
fering that's  making  Gallatin  so  worthless." 

She  shrank  back  in  her  chair,  hastily  veiled  her  eyes. 
Now  it  was  the  cuffs  of  the  shirt  waist  that  were  engag- 
ing her  attention. 

"  You  dislike  him,  I  know,"  Vaughan  went  on.  "  But 
why  do  you  treat  him  so  badly  ?  " 

No  ansAver.  She  could  hardly  believe  that  it  had  been 
so  long  since  Richard  had  noted  her  and  Basil.  Besides, 
when  had  she  ever  treated  him  in  a  way  that  could  be  called 
badly? 

"  I  am  sure  you  treat  him  badly.     Why  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  I  asked  you  a  question.  Politeness  would  sug- 
gest  " 

"  Not  in  this  family,"  said  Courtney,  cold  and  calm, 
her  slim  fingers  touching  her  hair  here  and  there. 

"  All  I've  got  to  say  is,  it's  no  wonder  Gallatin's 
becoming  useless  at  the  shop.  He  must  feel  his  posi- 
tion acutely.  I  can  conceive  of  no  reason  why  you 
should  subject  a  gentleman — and  my  guest — to  such  in- 
dignity." 

Courtney  looked  as  if  she  were  sitting  quietly  alone. 

"  Has  he  been  making  love  to  you  ?  "  demanded 
Vaughan. 

Her  eyelids  fluttered,  but  it  was  the  only  sign  she 
gave. 

"  Some  time  ago  I  observed  he  had  a  way  of  looking 
at  you  that  was  most  loverlike." 

Still  no  answer,  and  no  sign. 
143 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Even  so,  you  could  deal  with  him  tactfully.  He  is  a 
gentleman." 

"  You  said  that  before/'  observed  she,  elbows  on  the 
table,  her  chin  on  the  backs  of  her  intertwined  fingers,  her 
gaze  upon  the  bowl  of  old-fashioned  yellow  roses  in  the 
center  of  the  table. 

He  glowered  at  her.  "  So  I  did,"  said  he.  "  Now  I 
say  it  again,  and  perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  grasp  it. 
And  I  want  you  to  treat  him  as  a  gentleman  should  be 
treated.  So  long  as  he  is  my  guest,  so  long  as  he  conducts 
himself  like  a  gentleman,  you  must  be  courteous  to  him." 

No  answer;  no  change. 

"  Do  you  hear,  Courtney  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

Up  went  the  long  lashes  and  the  deep  green  eyes  burned 
coldly  at  him.  "  As  I  choose,"  said  she.  "  And  I  may  add, 
I  will  not  put  up  with  your  bad  temper  any  longer.  At  the 
next  outburst  from  you,  Winchie  and  I  leave  this  house.  I 
will  not  be  insulted,  and  will  not  have  my  boy  ruined  by 
his  father's  bad  example." 

Richard's  eyes  softened;  he  lowered  them,  the  red 
mounted.  After  a  silence  he  said  "  Excuse  me  "  without 
looking  at  her,  rose  and  went  to  the  veranda.  When  she 
finished  giving  directions  for  the  next  day  to  Nanny  and 
was  going  upstairs,  he  was  still  walking  up  and  down,  head 
bent,  hands  behind  his  back,  sternness  in  that  long  aris- 
tocratic profile.  An  hour  later,  as  she  sat  at  her  desk  in 
her  own  sitting  room  upstairs,  she  heard  his  voice  at  the 
door  into  the  hall. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  she.  Her  back  was  toward  the 
door. 

144 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  her  voice  cold  and  even.  She 
did  not  realize  how  much  this  meant  from  a  man  who  had 
not  the  apologizing  spirit  or  habit.  And  if  she  had  real- 
ized, she  would  have  been  no  more  appreciative. 

"  You  do  not  accept  it?  "  said  he,  ruffled  at  once,  and 
feeling  that  she  was  now  the  one  in  the  wrong. 

"I  do  not  care  anything  about  it,  one  way  or  the 
other." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then:  "  I  hardly  blame 
you,"  said  he,  with  a  great  air  of  generous  concession. 
"  I've  been  out  of  temper,  rude  —  disgracefully  so  —  for 
some  time.  I'm  sorry."  And  he  stood  looking  at  her  ex- 
pectantly, more  complacent  than  penitent. 

"  I  see  you  think  a  few  words  are  enough  to  make  up 
for  all  you've  done." 

"  What  more  can  I  do  ?  It's  not  a  bit  like  you,  Court- 
ney, to — 

"  And  what  do  you  know  about  me  ?  "  inquired  she, 
turning  half  round  and  looking  calmly  at  him  over  her 
shoulder.  "  It's  quite  true,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  have  no 
means  of  support  but  what  I  earn  here  as  your  housekeeper 
and — wife.  But,  I " 

"  Courtney !  "  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  imperative  rebuke. 

"  A  few  plain  words — of  truth — seem  to  shock  you  more 
than  your  own  conduct." 

"  Such  language  from  you !  But  you  did  not  realize 
what  you  were  saying." 

"  I  did.     I  meant  just  what  I  said." 

"  That  is  not  language  for  a  wife  to  use  to  a  hus- 
band." 

She  rose  from  the  desk  and,  without  looking  at  him, 
went  into  her  bedroom,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  was  working  in  the  garden  beneath  the  west  win- 
dows. She  moved  among  the  flowers,  as  restless  and  grace- 
ful as  any  other  of  the  elves  always  hovering  about  bloom- 
ing things — bees,  humming  birds,  butterflies.  It  was  a  rare 
chance  to  study  the  marvels  of  pose  of  which  the  human 
body  is  capable.  Now  she  was  stooping,  now  kneeling; 
bending  forward,  backward,  to  one  side;  or,  erect  and 
stretching  upward,  to  relieve  a  tall  rosebush  of  a  dead 
leaf  or  spray.  And  the  lines  of  her  figure,  ever  changing, 
were  ever  alluring.  Her  arms,  too — and  her  neck — how 
smooth  and  slenderly  round,  and  how  intensely  alive !  Her 
whole  skin  seemed  aureoled  with  invisible,  tremulous,  mag- 
netic waves.  She  was  wearing  a  big  pale-green  garden 
hat;  her  hair  was  perfectly  done,  as  always — as  if  it  had 
taken  no  time  or  trouble,  yet  so  that  it  formed  a  delightful 
frame  for  her  small,  delicate  face,  and  splintered  and  re- 
flected every  stray  of  sunlight  that  dodged  in  under  the 
brim.  Her  short  skirt  revealed  slim,  tapering  ankles  and 
small  feet.  There  are  feet  that  are  merely  short;  then 
there  are  feet  such  as  hers — exquisitely  small — not  useless 
looking,  but  the  reverse.  The  same  quality  of  the  exquisite 
was  in  her  figure.  She  was  small,  but  she  was  not  short. 
Her  smallness  enabled  a  perfection  nature  never  gets  in 
the  long  or  the  large.  She  made  largeness  suggest  coarse- 
ness. Women  of  her  form  send  thrilling  through  their 
lovers  the  feeling  of  being  able  completely  to  enfold  and 
to  possess. 

All  alone  and  thinking  only  of  the  flowers,  she  entered 
one  of  the  narrow  paths  that  led  toward  the  veranda.  She 
stretched  upward  to  re-curl  a  refractory  tendril.  Both  arms 
were  extended,  her  head  thrown  back,  the  rosy  bronze 
face  upturned — pathetic,  yet  laughter-loving  mouth,  eyes 
of  deep,  deep  green.  Like  one  awakening  from  a  pro- 

146 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

found  sleep  she  slowly  became  conscious  that  she  and  Basil 
Gallatin  were  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes  with  only  the 
trellised  creeper  between.  And  his  look  made  her  heart 
leap.  She  straightened  herself,  colored,  paled,  stood  trem- 
bling. The  next  thing  she  distinctly  knew,  he  had  come 
round  to  the  lawn  at  the  edge  of  the  garden  in  which  she 
was  working. 

"  How  you  startled  me !  "  she  said,  in  a  careless,  casual 
tone. 

As  he  did  not  answer,  she  glanced  at  him.  He  was 
standing  with  eyes  down.  And  his  look  made  her  vaguely 
afraid. 

"Are  you  going  to  help  me  to-day?"  she  asked,  re- 
solved to  brave  it  through. 

"  I  can't  stand  it !  "  he  cried,  his  voice  trembling  with 
passion.  "  I  love  you.  I  must  go.  I  shall  go  as  soon  as 
Vnughan  comes  back.  Until  then  I'll  keep  to  the  other  part 
of  tLe  grounds." 

"  Why  not  just  do  it,  and  not  talk  so  much?  "  she  de- 
manded, suddenly  angry. 

"If  you  had  ever  loved,"  said  he  humbly,  "  you'd  un- 
derstand. But  I  didn't  intend  to  say  these  things.  I  came 
to  tell  you  Vaughan's  away.  They  telegraphed  for  him  to 
hurry  to  Washington — something  about  the  duties  on  a  lot 
of  new  instruments." 

"  How  long  will  he  be  ?  " 

"  Several  weeks,  perhaps.  He's  going  afterwards  to 
Baltimore,  and  then  to  Philadelphia  and  New  York.  He 
left  word  with  Jimmie  about  sending  a  trunk  after  him. 
He  had  just  time  to  catch  the  express.  He  asked  me  to 
explain  to  you." 

Nanny  appeared  at  the  drive-front  corner  of  the  house. 
He  said  to  her:  "  Oh — Nanny.  I've  been  upstairs  packing 

147 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

a  few  of  my  belongings.     Will  you  have  them  taken  to 
Mr.   Vaughan's   apartment   at   the   shop  ?  " 

"  Jimmie  says  Mr.  Vaughan  locked  everything  up  down 
there,  and  took  the  keys,  and  said  no  one  was  to  go  near  it 
while  he  was  away." 

Basil  hesitated,  but  only  for  an  instant.  "  How  forget- 
ful he  is !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  smile.  "  Of  course  I've 
got  to  sleep  there — as  watchman.  Well,  I'll  force  the 
stairway  door.  You  can  telephone  over  for  a  locksmith 
this  afternoon  or  to-morrow.  He'll  make  a  new  lock  and 
key." 

Nanny  departed,  muttering.  She  did  not  like  disobedi- 
ence to  the  head  of  the  house  of  Vaughan ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  would  have  liked  it  much  less  had  Gallatin  stayed 
on  at  the  house  with  Mr.  Richard  not  there.  Gallatin 
turned  to  Courtney.  "  Would  it  be  too  much  trouble  to 
send  my  meals  to  the  shop  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  constrained, 
formal  tone  that  deeply  offended  her. 

"  Nanny  will  attend  to  that,"  replied  she,  eyes  cold  as 
winter  seas. 

"  Thank  you.  If  you  should  need  anyone — there's  the 
telephone  to  the  shop.  I'll  re-connect  it." 

"  You  needn't  bother." 

"  There  have  been  several  robberies  round  here  of  late, 
and " 

"  As  you  please.  .  .  .  Thank  you." 

He  looked  at  her  as  wistfully  as  a  prisoner  at  the  fields 
of  freedom  beyond  his  cell  window.  She  seemed  impatient 
to  resume  work;  he  went  reluctantly  away.  She  stood  gaz- 
ing after  him  until  he  disappeared  in  the  shrubbery  at  the 
far  eastern  edge  of  the  lawns.  Then  she  sighed  and 
glanced  at  the  unblemished  sky  as  if  she  thought  it  was 
clouding. 

148 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Three  uneasy,  tedious  days  and  two  wakeful  nights. 
In  the  third  night,  toward  one  o'clock,  she  tossed  away  her 
book,  put  out  her  light,  and  opened  all  her  shutters  as 
usual,  to  air  the  rooms.  "  If  I  opened  his  door  and  win- 
dow, I  might  get  a  breeze,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It's 
terribly  close."  She  crossed  the  hall,  entered  the  room  Gal- 
latin  had  occupied,  raised  a  window,  and  leaned  upon  the 
sill — it  was  the  small  window  beyond  the  end  of  the  bal- 
cony, and  so  did  not  extend  to  the  floor.  The  sky  was 
clear;  the  moon  was  hidden  by  the  house.  Stillness — peace 
• — beauty — beauty  of  view  and  of  odor — -the  lake  with  its 
dark  banks,  trees  tossing  up  into  the  blue-black  sky  and 
shimmering  with  moonlight — perfumes  of  foliage  and  flow- 
ers and  of  the  fresh-cut  grass  in  the  meadows  beyond  the 
highroad. 

"  It's  as  if  everybody  in  the  world  were  dead  except 
me,"  she  murmured.  She  listened  again  to  get  the  weird 
effect  of  utter  absence  of  sound.  This  time  she  heard  the 
faint  plaint  of  a  cricket,  appealing  for  company  in  its 
blindness  and  solitude.  Then — her  nerves  became  tense. 
From  the  balcony,  which  ended  just  a  few  feet  to  her  left, 
came  a  stealthy  sound — like  a  step.  Softly  she  crossed  the 
room — the  hall — her  own  room,  to  the  high-boy.  She  took 
from  its  top  drawer  her  pistol.  She  returned  to  Gallatin's 
bedroom — noiselessly  unlocked  the  shutters  over  one  pair 
of  the  long  windows  opening  on  the  balcony — unbolted  one 
of  them  and  held  it  ajar.  Yes,  there  was  some  one  on  that 
balcony.  Several  of  the  neighbors  had  been  robbed;  now, 
it  was  their  turn.  The  pistol  was  self-cocking.  Taking 
it  in  her  right  hand,  she  drew  back  the  window  with  her 
left,  stepped  out.  She  thrust  the  pistol  into  the  very  face 
of  the  man. 

He  sprang  back.  She  saw  what  looked  like  a  knife  in 
149 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

one  hand — nothing,  apparently,  in  the  other.  At  the  same 
instant  she  heard  him  cry  "  Courtney !  " 

The  pistol  dropped  from  her  nerveless  hand  to  the 
balcony  floor. 

"  It's  I !  "  Gallatin  exclaimed.  "  I  heard  a  second-story 
window  go  up  very  softly — I  was  walking  and  smoking  in 
the  path.  I  came — climbed  a  pillar — and " 

"  O  God !  God !  "  she  sobbed.  Down  she  sank  to  the 
floor,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands.  "  My  love !  My  love ! 
And  I  almost  killed  you !  " 

He  knelt  beside  her.  "  Dearest — "  He  put  his  arm 
round  her.  Instantly  he  drew  away  and  sprang  to  his 
feet.  Up  she  started,  gazing  wildly  round.  "  What  is 
it?"  she  exclaimed.  "Where?" 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  was  his  confused  answer.  But 
already  she  had  felt  a  thrill  from  where  his  arm,  his  hand 
had  been,  and  understood. 

A  stifling  silence.  He  said:  "I  must  go  now.  I'm 
sorry  to  have  disturbed  you."  And  with  his  conventional- 
ity that  was  of  instinct  he  lifted  his  hat  and  made  a  dig- 
nified bow.  In  her  hysterical  state,  she  did  not  miss  the 
grotesque  humor  of  this;  she  burst  out  laughing.  She 
ler.ned  against  the  window  frame  and  laughed  until  she 
had  to  wipe  away  the  flowing  tears.  He  stood  staring 
blankly  at  her,  with  rising  offense,  as  he,  always  sensitive 
about  himself,  suspected  she  was  laughing  at  him.  For 
his  sense  of  humor  was  not  nearly  so  keen  as  she  had 
been  deceived  into  thinking  by  his  store  of  jokes  and 
songs,  of  odds  and  ends  of  amusing  cleverness,  all  en- 
tirely new  to  her,  and  therefore  seeming  practically  original 
with  him. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said  stiffly,  when  she  was  somewhat 
calm.  "  I  should  like  to  laugh,  too."  It  seemed  to  him 

150 


THE   nUNGEY   HEART 

characteristic  indeed,  but  most  untimely,  this  display  of 
her  utter  incapacity  for  seriousness. 

"  Hysteria — reaction — and  your  everlasting  good  man- 
ners," replied  she.  "  Is  there  anything  on  earth  that 
would  make  you  forget  you  are  a  gentleman  from  Phila- 
delphia? " 

"  Nothing  but  you,"  answered  he  bitterly.  "  Good 
night." 

"  Wait  a  second — please,"  she  pleaded.  And — why,  she 
could  not  have  told — she  went  on,  to  her  own  surprise, 
"  The  other  day  you  said  you  had  changed  your  mind  and 
were  going." 

"  Yes." 

"Isn't  that — cruel?  I've  learned  to — to  depend  on 
your  friendship." 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  he  did,  his 
voice  betrayed  his  agitation.  "  I'm  going  because  my  man- 
hood demands  it.  It  may  be  weakness,  but  if  I  stayed  I 
should — should  go  all  to  pieces." 

"  I  can't  argue  against  that.  But  there's  one  thing: 
As  you're  going,  I  want  to  be  able  to  feel  that  there's  no 
blot  on  our  friendship.  I've  been  condemning  you  unheard. 
Tell  me " 

She  paused.  He  felt  how  embarrassed  she  was. 
"What?"  he  asked  gently.  "Anything  you  wish  to 
know?  " 

"  Did  you  go  to — to  Pittsburg  because — because — I  sent 
you?  " 

He  did  not  answer;  it  was  too  dark  to  make  out  his 
expression. 

"  I  told  you,"  she  went  on,  speaking  rapidly,  as  soldiers 
advance  at  a  double  quick,  where  if  they  advanced  at  ordi- 
nary pace  they  would  have  time  to  think,  to  be  afraid,  to 

151 


turn  and  fly,  "  I  told  you  to  go  back  to  your  old  haunts 
and  cure  yourself  of — of  your  fancy  for  me.  .  .  .  You 
went? " 

"  You  could  suspect  that !  " 

"If  you  did,  don't  lie  to  me.  Say  so,  and  I'll  never 
think  of  it  again.  I'd  understand.  I'd — I'd — forgive." 

"  There  is  no  woman  for  me  but  you,"  he  answered, 
drawing  a  step  farther  from  her  and  putting  his  hands  be- 
hind his  back.  "  I  went  because  my  aunt  telegraphed  for 
me.  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could  get  away." 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  pressed  them  against  her 
bosom.  She  leaned  toward  him,  eyes  like  two  of  the  few 
large  stars  in  that  summer  night  sky.  "  I  am  so  glad,"  she 
murmured. 

"Why  did  you  suspect?  How  could  you?  Why  did 
you  care  ?  " 

"I  was  —  jealous."  The  confession  was  almost  in- 
audible. 

"  Courtney !  "     His  arms  impulsively  extended. 

She  waved  him  back.  "  Go — go !  I  am  upset — hysteri- 
cal. Forget  what  I  said.  We  are  friends  again.  There  is 
jealousy  in  friendship,  too.  Good  night." 

He  hesitated.  There  she  stood,  all  in  that  flimsy  white 
— her  coils  of  soft  fine  hair  about  her  small  head — her  arms, 
her  throat,  her  face  tantalizingly  half  revealed  in  the  dim- 
ness. "  Courtney — do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  No — no — not  that,"  answered  she,  softly,  hurriedly, 
pleadingly.  "  But  I  like  you — and  I'm  a  woman — and-«- 
and  that  tells  the  whole  story.  Good  night,  Mr.  Basil." 
She  held  out  her  hand. 

He  did  not  take  it.  "  I  dare  not  touch  you — to-night," 
he  said.  "  I  can't  be  trusted — nor  can  you." 

"  No,"  she  assented,  letting  her  hand  drop.  She  drew 
152 


a  long,  deep  breath,  and  he  also — a  draught  of  that  in- 
toxicating air,  surcharged  with  perfume  and  moonbeams  and 
the  freedom  of  the  midnight  outdoors. 

"  We  are  friends — through  and  through?  " 

"  Yes."  His  reply  was  in  the  same  low,  hushed  voice 
as  her  question. 

"  That  is  so  much — so  much."  Their  nerves  like  their 
voices  were  tense  from  the  restraint  of  the  passionate  emo- 
tions damming  up  higher  and  higher  within. 

"  And  I'll  see  you  at  breakfast — and  thank  you  for  com- 
ing. .  .  .  Good  night,  Mr.  Basil." 

He  bared  his  head.  She  did  not  feel  like  laughing  now 
at  his  "  everlasting  good  manners,"  but  was  shivering,  with 
hot  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  said  "  Good  night,  Mrs.  Court- 
ney." 

Slowly  she  went  in  at  the  window  of  his  room.  Just 
as  she  was  about  to  push  the  bolt,  she  opened  it  again. 
"  You  must  come  in  this  way,"  she  said.  "  I'll  let  you  out 
at  the  front  door." 

"  No,  I'll  go  as  I  came." 

"  Nonsense!  " 

"  If  any  of  the  servants " 

"  You  make  me  feel  guilty — when  I'm  not.     Come !  " 

He  entered  the  room.  Both  began  to  close  the  win- 
dow. Their  hands  touched,  hesitated,  clasped.  She  was 
in  his  arms,  his  lips  were  upon  hers.  A  long  kiss.  Her 
form  relaxed;  she  drew  her  lips  away  to  murmur,  "Hold 
me.  I'm — faint."  Again  their  lips  met,  and  he  clasped 
her  to  him  until  he  could  feel  the  wild  pulsing  of  her  blood 
against  his  face,  against  his  chest,  against  his  arms — could 
feel  it  in  every  part  of  that  small  form,  so  utterly  within 
his  embrace.  "  Don't,"  she  gasped.  "  It  is  too  much — too 
much." 

153 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  I  love  you — I  love  you.  You  are  mine — yes,  you  are, 
Courtney !  There  is  nothing  but  love." 

She  gently  released  herself,  swayed,  leaned  against  the 
casement,  looked  up  into  the  summer  starlight.  Again  he 
seized  her,  and  again  his  lips  found  hers.  Her  head 
dropped  upon  his  shoulder.  A  sound — one  of  those  creak- 
ings  that  haunt  the  stillness  of  a  house  in  the  night  hours. 
She  startled,  stiffened,  shut  her  teeth  upon  a  scream. 

"  It  was  nothing,"  he  said.  He,  too,  was  rigid,  with 
every. sense  alert  for  danger. 

"  What  have  we  done !  "  she  exclaimed.  They  stood 
silent,  facing  each  other,  overcome  with  shame,  burning 
with  longing.  "  Oh — Basil !  " 

He  took  her  in  his  arms.  But  she  pushed  him  resolutely 
away.  "  No — not  again,"  she  said.  He  looked  at  her ;  she 
gazed  up  into  the  sky.  "  Love !  "  she  murmured.  "  Love ! 
And  I — must  not." 

"  I  forgot — forgot !  "  he  cried.  "  O  God — Courtney — 
I  love  you  more  than  honor."  And  he  opened  the  other 
of  the  door  windows,  rushed  past  her,  vanished  round 
the  corner  of  the  house.  She  sighed,  shivered,  stepped  out 
upon  the  balcony,  stood  at  the  rail  until  she  saw  a  dark 
form  rapidly  cross  the  lawns  toward  the  shrubbery  densely 
inclosing  the  Smoke  House.  She  looked  all  round — sky — 
lake — woods.  "  It  is  so  lonely,"  she  sobbed.  "  So  lonely !  " 


TEN  minutes  before  breakfast  time  a  knock  at  the  hall 
door  into  her  bedroom.  She  knew  who  it  was  that  could 
not  reach  above  the  lower  panels.  "  Come  in!  "  she  cried. 
Winchie  entered — stopped  short  on  the  threshold. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Benedict  Vaughan,"  said  she, 
nodding  at  him  by  way  of  the  mirror  before  which  she  was 
arranging  her  blouse  at  the  neck.  And  he  knew  she  was 
in  a  particularly  fine  humor. 

"  Have  we  got  company  ?    Who  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No.     Why?" 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  take  me  for  a  walk  after  break- 
fast?" 

"Of  course.     Don't  we  always  go?" 

"  But  it's  raining." 

"  I  know." 

"Wouldn't  it  spoil  that  dress?" 

"  One'd  think  you  had  a  sloven  for  a  mother.  Don't  I 
always  dress?  " 

"  But  that's  a  long  skirt.     And  you're  not  putting  on  a 

:  waist." 

"  I'll  change  after  breakfast." 

"  Oh."  This,  however,  contented  him  for  a  moment 
only.  He  eyed  her  critically  as  she  made  one  insignifi- 
cant little  change  after  another,  displaying  a  fussiness 
quite  unusual.  "  I  guess  we're  to  have  company — maybe." 

"  Not  at  all.  "We  never  have  people  to  breakfast. 
What  are  you  puzzling  about?  " 

155 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Why  didn't  you  put  on  the  rain  dress  ?  " 

Courtney's  delicate  skin  was  showing  more  than  its 
normal  color.  She  shook  her  head  laughingly  at  him — 
this  child  whose  questions  were  forcing  her  to  see  a  truth 
she  was  striving  might  and  main  to  hide  from  herself. 
"  You  don't  like  this  dress  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  'em  all.     It  isn't  the  dress,  exactly." 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It's — something.  It  made  me  think 
company  right  away."  The  bar  of  music  from  the  gong 
came  floating  up  from  below.  "  There's  breakfast !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "Are  you  'most  ready?" 

"  Quite,"  replied  she,  with  a  last  look  at  profile,  back 
hair  and  back  of  skirt  with  the  aid  of  a  hand  glass. 

"  Maybe  there'll  be  company,"  said  Winchie  as  they 
started. 

"  I'm  sure  there'll  be  corn  muffins,"  said  she.  "  I  smell 
them." 

"  If  there's  hash,  may  I  have  a  little?  " 

"A  little." 

The  descent  was  slow  as  Winchie's  legs  were  short.  She 
listened  at  every  step,  but  could  hear  no  sound  of  the  kind 
she  hoped.  At  the  sitting-room  door  she  glanced  round. 
He  was  not  there.  "  He's  in  the  dining  room,"  she  said 
half  to  herself. 

"Who,  mamma?" 

Courtney  startled,  flushed.  "What  is  it,  dear?"  she 
stammered  guiltily. 

"  Has  papa  come?  " 

"  No,  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Gallatin." 

Winchie  drew  his  hand  from  hers.  But  she  did  not 
note  it;  for  they  were  at  the  threshold  of  the  dining  room, 
and  no  one  was  there  but  Lizzie.  She  and  Winchie  sat, 

156 


but  she  did  not  begin.  A  moment  and  she  went  to  the 
telephone  in  the  hall,  took  down  the  receiver  of  the  private 
wire.  Soon  she  heard  in  Basil's  voice,  "  Hello.  What 
is  it?  " 

"  It's—      I." 

"  Oh."     Then  silence. 

"  Did  you  hurt  yourself  last  night?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all — thank  you." 

In  a  constrained  voice:  "  I  thought  you  were  coming 
to  breakfast." 

"  I  felt  it  was  better  not  to." 

"  Oh ! — good-by."     And  she  hung  up  the  receiver. 

Back  in  the  dining  room,  uneasy  under  Winchie's  seri- 
ous steady  gaze,  she  winced  at  his  first  remark:  "  Mr. 
Gallatin's  company.  There's  you — and  me — and  the  rest's 
company."  After  a  pause,  doubtfully :  "  Except  papa. 
He's  not  quite  company,  I  guess." 

"  Do  you  want  some  of  the  hash  ?  " 

"  You  said  there  wasn't  to  be  company." 

"  Please !  Please !  "  she  cried.  "  You'll  give  me  the 
headache." 

"  You  said  I  was  always  to  say  what  I  had  in  my 
brains." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  his  hand.    "  And  so  you  must." 

"  Do  you  say  everything  that's  in  your  brains  ?  " 

She  reddened  again.  "  Everything  Winchie'd  under- 
stand," replied  she.  "  After  a  while,  when  you  grow  up, 
you'll  find  a  lot  of  things  in  your  mind  that  it'd  be  of 
no  use  to  say  because  nobody  would  understand — a  lot  of 
things  you  won't  understand  yourself." 

"  There  is  those  in,  already,"  said  he  solemnly. 

She  laughed.     "  No  doubt." 

As  she  did  not  encourage  him,  he  addressed  himself 
11  157 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

to  the  hash,  which  was  the  kind  he  liked — brown  and  not 
too  dry,  and  with  the  potatoes  in  little  cubes.  She  poured 
her  coffee,  just  touched  one  of  Mazie's  famous  corn  muf- 
fins as  she  slowly  drank  it,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  clear 
and  calm  daylight  reflections  that  make  comment  so  cynical 
and  so  severe  upon  what  we  do  and  say  and  think  under 
the  spell  of  night.  She  put  on  a  waterproof  hat  and  suit, 
leggings  and  boots,  and  issued  forth  for  a  two-hours' 
tramp  with  Winchie,  who  was  dressed  in  the  same  fashion. 
When  they  got  back  at  ten,  she  felt  she  was  not  the  same 
woman  as  the  one  who  had  the  adventure  with  the  burglar 
on  the  balcony.  She  saw  Winchie  into  dry  clothes  and 
settled  at  his  rainy-day  games — then  out  she  went  again. 
She  walked  rapidly  along  the  path  to  the  Smoke  House; 
was  soon  rapping  at  the  heavy  iron  door  of  the  laboratory. 
She  rapped  again  and  again,  turned  away  angry,  was  al- 
most back  at  the  edge  of  the  shrubbery  when  she  remem- 
bered that  Richard  had  locked  the  laboratory,  that  Basil 
could  not  possibly  be  there. 

She  hesitated,  returned  to  the  Smoke  House,  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  stairway  leading  up  to  the  suite.  No 
answer.  She  opened  it,  went  upstairs.  At  the  top  she 
paused,  called,  "  Anybody  here  ?  " 

Basil  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  sitting  room.  He 
was  in  a  dark-blue  summer  house  suit,  a  cigarette  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth.  His  face  was  very  red;  his  eyes  did 
not  meet  hers.  "  Lizzie  straightened  up  and  left  about 
half  an  hour  ago,"  said  he. 

"  I  came  for  a  look  round,"  explained  she,  admiring, 
without  seeming  to  do  so,  his  elegant  and  fashionable  suit, 
the  harmony  of  its  color  with  his  soft  negligee  shirt  and 
flowing  artist's  tie.  But  then  she  always  liked  the  way 
he  dressed,  the  way  he  wore  his  clothes.  "  I  come  once 

158 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

a  week  in  the  morning  to  keep  Lizzie  up  to  the  mark," 
she  went  on.  "  You're  down  in  the  laboratory  at  that  time, 
so  you  haven't  known  what  a  model  housekeeper  I  am." 

He  did  not  stand  aside  for  her  to  enter. 

"  I  also  had  another  reason,"  pursued  she.  "  Please 
don't  choke  up  the  doorway.  I'm  coming  in." 

He  bowed,  stood  aside.  She  entered,  glanced  round  the 
sober  but  not  somber  room  with  its  walls,  ceilings,  floor, 
and  furniture  of  walnut.  It  was  a  comfortable  place  and 
beautifully  clean.  "  Jimmie  attends  to  the  floors  ?  " 

"  Every  week."" 

She  glanced  into  the  adjoining  room — kalsomined 
walls  and  ceiling,  a  white  oak  floor,  a  big  chest  of  drawers, 
a  big  mirror,  a  big  table  and  chair,  a  roomy  brass  bedstead. 
"  Any  complaints  ?  " 

"  Everything  perfectly  satisfactory,"  he  assured  her. 

"  Now  for  my  other  business — my  real  business,"  said 
she,  disposing  herself  in  one  of  the  window  seats.  "  You 
may  continue  to  stand,  if  you  prefer;  but  it  would  please 
me  better  if  you  sat." 

He  seated  himself  stiffly  at  the  table  desk.  Her  eyes 
were  dancing  with  amusement  at  his  overelaborated  for- 
mality. It  made  him  seem  such  a  boy,  made  her  feel  vastly 
wiser  and  stronger  and  older  than  he. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  breakfast  ?  "  she  inquired  in 
a  most  businesslike  tone. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  see  you  again  until 
Vaughan  returned." 

"  And  then,  to  go  away?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  I  prefer  not  to  answer  that." 

"Why  not?" 

159 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  It's  true  Vaughan  and  I  are  not  exactly  friends. 
Still,  I've  been  disloyal.  I  shall  be  so  no  more." 

She  clasped  her  hands  round  one  knee,  looked  at  him 
with  half  closed  eyes.  "  I  do  not  like  to  be  regarded  as 
part  of  some  one's  else  belongings/'  said  she.  "  I  belong 
to  myself." 

"  I  wish  to  God  you  did !  " 

"  You  attach  too  much  importance  to  what  a  woman 
says  and  does  on  impulse.  I  was  much  upset  last  night. 
I  said  and  did  things  that  seem  absurd  to  me  in  daylight." 

"  I  am  just  as  absurd,  as  you  call  It,  in  daylight  as  I 
was  in  moonlight." 

She  flinched,  controlled  herself,  made  an  impatient  ges- 
ture. "  Don't  say  those  things,  or  you'll  spoil  everything," 
she  half  pleaded,  half  commanded. 

He  strode  to  a  window  across  the  room  from  that  in 
which  she  was  sitting.  "  Everything  is  spoiled.  I've  sim- 
ply got  to  go." 

"  No."  She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  You  will  stay, 
and  we'll  be  friends  again,  as  before." 

"  If  I  could  only  wipe  out  last  night !  "  he  cried,  and 
he  wheeled  upon  her. 

She  caught  her  breath.  "  Do  you  mean  that?  "  she 
asked  impulsively. 

He  stopped  short,  faced  her,  but  his  eyes  were  down. 
"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  he.  "  And  that's  the  devil  of  it." 

"Why?" 

"  If  I  honestly  regretted  last  night,  I  could  stay." 

"  Why  do  you  lie  to  yourself?  "  she  asked,  crossing  the 
room  toward  him.  "  You  have  no  real  intention  of  going." 

His  gaze  sank.     "  I  shall  try  to  go,"  he  muttered. 

She  laughed — after  she  had  returned  to  the  safer  dis- 
tance of  the  window  seat.  "  What  a  passion  for  hypocrisy 

160 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

you  men  have.     '  I  shall  try.'     You  hope  that  last  tiny  rag 
of  a  remnant  will  cover  your  real  purpose." 

"  You  think  I  am  a  dishonorable  dog.  I  don't  wonder 
at  it." 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  I  do  think  you  are  taking  yourself 
entirely  too  seriously.  You  don't  want  to  go,  do  you  ?  And 
I  don't  wish  you  to  go.  And  Richard  doesn't  want  you 
to  go." 

"  He'd  compel  it  if  he  knew." 

"  But  he  doesn't  know.  Maybe,  if  I  knew  some  things 
about  you,  I'd  want  you  to  go.  Maybe,  if  you  knew  me 
thoroughly,  you'd  be  eager  to  go.  As  it  is,  we  all  want 
things  to  stay  as  they  are." 

"  Last  night  was  a  warning." 

"  Yes,"  she  hastened  to  assent.  "  Let's  heed  it.  Let's 
go  back  to  friendship  and  not  wander.  My  friend,  you're 
letting  your  mind  hang  over  just  one  subject,  just  one  side 
of  the  relations  of  men  and  women.  Isn't  there  more  to  me 
than — that  ?  " 

"  Courtney !  "  he  protested. 

"  Then  let's  be  friends.  Let's  put  aside  what  we  can't 
have.  Let's  take  and  enjoy  what  we  can.  Let's  not  talk 
or  think  about — about  love — any  more  than  one  frets  about 
not  being  able  to  visit  the  moon.  We've  been  finding  life 
happy  these  last  few  weeks,  with  that  subject  never  men- 
tioned. Why  not  again?  Are  you  too  weak?  Am  I  too 
uninteresting?  " 

"  I  tried  once  before  and  failed." 

"  But  now  that  we've  looked  the  situation  straight  in  the 
face — now  that  we're  both  on  guard — don't  you  think  we 
can  do  better  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  confessed.  "  I'm  afraid  to  try — - 
aren't  you?  " 

161 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Her  eyes  held  him,  they  were  so  mysterious.  "  Not  so 
much  as  I'm  afraid  not  to  try/'  replied  she  slowly. 

He  dropped  into  his  chair  again,  sat  staring  at  the  blot- 
ting pad  on  the  desk. 

"  Had  you  thought,"  she  went  on,  "  what  would  happen 
if  we  owned  ourselves  beaten  and  fled  from  each  other  ?  " 

He  presently  lifted  his  eyes,  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 
"  And  that  never  occurred  to  me !  "  he  cried.  "  Why,  our 
only  chance  now  is  to  stay  here  and  fight  it  out.  If  we 
shirked  and  tried  to  escape — "  He  paused. 

She  nodded  gravely. 

"  If  I  went  away,  it'd  only  be  to  come  back — desperate. 
And  you " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  They  sat  silent  a  long 
time.  "  It  would  be  horribly  lonely  with  you  gone,"  said 
she  in  an  absent,  impersonal  way.  "  And  loneliness  breeds 
such  wild  longings." 

A  long  silence.  Then  she  rose.  "  Come  up  to  the 
house  and  help  me  with  those  plans  for  a  kitchen  garden 
under  glass,"  she  suggested. 

He  nodded  without  looking  at  her,  as  if  to  show  her  that 
he  understood  all  and  accepted  what  was  beyond  question 
the  less  dangerous  of  their  alternatives.  "  As  scon  as  I 
dress,  I'll  be  there,"  said  he. 

"  I  forgot.    I  must  change,  too.    In  an  hour?  " 

"  Less." 

They  shook  hands  in  an  emphatically  comradely  fashion, 
and  she  went.  The  former  conditions  were  restored.  They 
would  not  permit  them  to  be  interrupted  again.  They 
would  demonstrate  that,  with  a  thousand,  thousand  other 
things,  interesting,  amusing,  to  talk  and  to  think  about,  they 
could  bar  out  love  and  keep  it  out. 

An  hour  over  the  plans,  then  they  had  dinner,  laughing 
163 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 


and  joking  together  like  two  children.  They  did  not  heed 
or  even  note  the  gloom  of  Winchie  and  old  Nanny — she  was 
waiting,  as  it  was  Lizzie's  day  out.  Winchie  sat  mum  and 
glum,  eating  in  the  deliberate  way  Courtney  had  taught  him 
and  never  lifting  his  jealous  eyes  from  his  plate.  Nanny 
— middle-aged,  homely,  prim  with  the  added  sourness  of 
those  who  have  never  had  the  least  temptation  to  be  other- 
wise— Nanny  glowered  at  Gallatin  every  time  she  came  into 
the  room.  She  had  disapproved  of  him  from  the  outset  and 
had  made  no  secret  of  it.  This  gayety  of  his,  in  the  absence 
of  the  head  of  the  house  of  Vaughan,  changed  that  din- 
ner for  her  into  a  Babylonish  revel.  She  was  shocked 
at  Courtney's  taking  part,  but  was  not  surprised.  What 
was  to  be  expected  of  the  weak  and  frivolous  younger 
generation  of  her  own  sex,  mad  about  adorning  the  body, 
scornful  of  the  idea  of  "  settling,"  and  incredulous  as  to 
hell  fire?  Her  anger  concentrated  on  Gallatin.  He  was 
a  man;  he  seemed  a  serious,  moral  man.  Yet  here  he 
was,  leading  on  the  vain,  weak  woman — he  a  guest  of  Mr. 
Vaughan's — trusted  by  him — put  upon  his  honor.  "  It's 
enough  to  bring  Colonel  'Kill  back  a-harntin',"  muttered 
she  into  the  oven.  .  .  .  Early  in  the  afternoon  it  cleared 
gloriously.  Outdoors,  the  two  trespassers  upon  ancient 
propriety  giddied  into  still  higher  spirits.  And  after  sup- 
per !  They  banged  on  the  piano  and  sang  "  coon  "  songs 
and  became  so  hilarious  "  that  you'd  think  the  settin'  room 
was  full,"  said  Jimmie  to  his  aunt. 

Nanny  scowled  at  the  blue  yarn  sock  she  was  knitting 
with  wrinkled,  rheumatism-knotted  fingers.  "  Such  goings- 
on  !  "  she  growled. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Jimmie.  "  Where's  the  harm? 
And  I  reckon  Mrs.  V.  knows  how  to  take  care  of  herself." 

"Who  said  she  didn't?"  snapped  Nanny. 
163 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Toward  nine  Courtney  and  Basil  went  out  on  the 
veranda.  It  was  a  perfect  August  night.  The  honey- 
suckle in  great  masses  upon  the  rail  was  giving  forth  an 
odor  that  quieted  them  like  pensive  music.  Under  the 
trees  and  among  the  bushes  the  now  pale,  now  bright  lamps 
of  the  "  lightning  bugs  "  shone  by  scores  and  hundreds. 
There  was  a  moon,  sailing  high  and  almost  full.  She 
thought  she  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life.  At 
former  happy  times  there  was  in  her  no  such  capacity 
to  appreciate  and  enjoy  as  experience  had  now  given  her. 
And  what  an  ideal  companion  Basil  was — so  much  the 
man  of  the  world,  wise,  experienced,  yet  simple  and  amaz- 
ingly modest.  And  how  marvelously  they  fitted  into  each 
other's  moods!  She  had  never  thought  to  find  a  human 
being  with  just  the  right  combination  of  qualities — one 
who  could  be  serious — always  in  an  interesting  way — and 
also  as  light  as  the  lightest. 

"  Look  at  those  elder  blossoms,"  said  Basil  in  a  low 
voice,  as  if  louder  tones  might  break  the  spell  and  dis- 
solve the  beauty,  delicate,  fragile,  unreal. 

Elder  bushes  were  the  outer  wall  of  the  eastern  shrub- 
bery ;  their  flowers,  soft,  feathery  mats,  deliciously  sweet  to 
smell,  looked  at  that  distance  and  in  that  light  like  a  wall 
of  snow.  Courtney  and  Basil  descended  from  the  veranda, 
strolled  across  the  lawn.  She  lifted  her  head,  seemed  to 
drink  in  the  beauty  with  her  whole  face,  and  to  exhale  it  in 
a  newer,  subtler  loveliness  and  perfume. 

"  How  sweet  the  boxwood  hedge  is  after  to-day's  rain." 

As  they  neared  the  water's  edge,  all  other  perfumes 
yielded  to  the  powerful,  heavy,  sensuous  odor  of  the  locust 
blossoms,  in  white  clusters  above  the  bench  on  which  they 
presently  sat.  They  were  silent,  gazing  across  the  lake 
where,  in  contrast  to  the  darkness  and  silence  of  their 

164; 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

shore,  lay  the  town,  a  shimmer  of  light,  a  murmur  of 
confused  sounds  mingling  pleasantly.  Down  the  lake,  far 
out  beyond  the  edge  of  the  heavy  shadow  flung  by  the  trees, 
a  boat  was  coming,  the  man  rowing,  the  girl  playing  the 
mandolin  and  singing.  The  tinkling  of  the  mandolin  and 
the  fresh  young  voice  floated  over  the  waters  to  Courtney 
and  Basil.  She  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  with  a  sense 
of  alluring  danger  hovering.  The  boat  drew  nearer;  the 
sounds  were  clearer — clearer,  more  tender,  more  moving. 
The  mandolin  tinkled.  The  free,  sweet  young  voice  sang: 
"  I  want  you — ma  honey ! — yes  I  do !  I  want  you — I 
want  you " 

She  clasped,  clinched  her  hands  in  her  lap.  Basil 
started  up.  "  I  can't  bear  it !  "  he  cried.  "  I  can't !  " 

"  No — no !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  her  strange  look  sug- 
gested a  soul  drowning.  "  Go — go  quickly !  "  And  draw- 
ing her  white  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  she  fled  into  the 
house. 


XI 

"WHERE'S  Mr.  Gallatin?  "  asked  Winchie,  as  he  and 
his  mother  were  finishing  breakfast  next  morning. 

"  At  the  Smoke  House,  I  guess,"  replied  she.  There 
was  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes,  and  their  lids  were  heavy. 
Although  Lizzie  had  been  unusually  unsuccessful  in  arrang- 
ing the  flowers,  she  left  the  bowl  untouched  in  the  center 
of  the  table — a  solid  mass  of  carnations  which  she  could 
have  changed  into  a  miracle  of  lightness  and  grace. 

"  Is  he  coming  to  breakfast?  "  asked  Winchie. 

"  No — at  least,  I  suppose  not.  How'd  you  like  to  go 
to  grandpa's  ?  " 

"Will  Mr.  Gallatin  go?" 

Courtney's  cheeks   flushed.     "  No,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I'd  like  it — for  -a  while." 

"  We  are  going  to-morrow,"  said  Courtney.  "  To-mor- 
row morning." 

"  Is  grandpa  sick?  " 

"  No.     Nobody  is  sick." 

"Then  why?" 

Courtney's  face  wore  a  queer  smile.  "  We'll  help 
grandma  and  Aunt  Lai  and  Aunt  Ann  put  up  fruit  and 
jam  and  preserves." 

"  Will  we  stay  long?  "  inquired  the  boy  anxiously. 

"  Until — until  your  father — gets  back." 

Winchie  looked  much  downcast.     "  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Why  not?"  said  Courtney.  "And  now,  you'll  help 
me  pack  and  I'll  help  you." 

It  was  a  busy  day,  as  there  were  many  things  to  ar- 
166 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

range  besides  the  packing.  Gallatin  did  not  appear  at  the 
house  all  day,  and  Courtney  did  not  expect  him.  Toward 
ten  that  night  the  packing  was  finished  and  everything 
ready  for  an  early  departure.  Courtney  went  downstairs 
and  out  across  the  moonlit  lawn.  Slowly,  with  gaze 
straight  ahead,  she  strolled  toward  the  lake,  toward  the 
summer  house  in  the  copse  at  the  western  edge  of  the 
grounds.  She  entered,  curled  herself  up  on  the  broad 
seat,  her  elbow  upon  the  rail,  her  hand  supporting  her 
chin.  She  watched  the  moonlight  in  the  ripples  along 
the  middle  of  the  lake.  From  time  to  time,  she  lifted  her 
head,  strained  her  eyes  into  the  encircling  shadows,  then 
resumed  her  attitude,  mental  as  well  as  physical,  of  for- 
lorn abstraction.  Something  less  than  half  an  hour,  and 
when  she  lifted  herself  to  glance  round  for  the  third  or 
fourth  time,  she  did  not  sink  back,  but  slowly  straightened, 
her  breath  coming  quickly. 

"Who's  there?"  she  called  softly,  addressing  the  deep 
shadows  over  the  path  by  which  she  had  come. 

No  answer  but  the  chorus  of  tiny  creatures  murmur- 
ing excitedly  in  every  crevice  and  beneath  every  blade 
and  leaf. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  she  demanded,  but  not  loudly  or  nerv- 
ously. She  stood  up. 

"  Only  I,"  came  in  Basil's  voice,  and  he  advanced 
and  stood  between  the  entrance  pillars  of  the  open  rustic 
pavilion. 

"  Oh !  "  said  she.  And  she  resumed  gazing  over  the 
water,  but  did  not  resume  her  seat. 

"  I  saw  you  cross  the  lawn,"  he  explained.  "  And  I 
was  afraid  some  one  might  intrude." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she  gratefully. 

"  You  knew  it  was   I — didn't  you  ?  "  he  went  on. 
167 


HUNGRY   HEART 


A  brief  silence,  then  —  "  Yes/'  she  admitted,  and  gave 
a  little  laugh. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  " 

"  Because  I  just  realized  that  I  was  expecting  you  — 
that  I  came  here  hoping  to  see  you.  How  one  does  lie 
to  oneself  !  " 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  leave  you?  " 

"  No.  .  .  .  What   a   beautiful   night  it  is  !  " 

"  The  loveliest  I  ever  saw." 

"  These  locust  blossoms  —  The  perfume  makes  me  feel 
languid  —  but  not  sleepy." 

"  I  guess  it  is  the  locusts,"  he  said.  "  I  feel  that  way, 
too." 

"  I'm  taking  Winchie  to  my  father's  for  a  visit  —  in  the 
morning." 

"  So   Jimmie  said." 

"  We'll  stay  until  Richard  comes  back." 

"  I  supposed  so." 

A  silence.  Then  she  :  "  I  must  go  in  soon/'  and  an 
instant  later,  without  realizing  it,  seated  herself. 

"  I  wrote  to  Starky  —  Estelle  —  to-day.  ...  To  ask  her 
to  fix  Uie  date  for  —  the  marriage." 

She  shivered. 

"  I  decided  it  was  best  for  me  to  commit  myself." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  And,"  he  went  on,  "  you  know  I  shall  always  love 
you  —  always!  ...  I  say  that  because  —  in  a  few  minutes 
flow  we'll  part,  and  never  see  each  other  again." 

With  her  face  between  her  hands,  she  gazed  at  the 
Jancing  surface  of  the  watery  highway  of  moonlight,  and 
repeated  monotonously  —  "  never  see  each  other  again." 
Then.,  after  a  moment,  "  How  heavy  the  perfume  of  the 
locusts  is'' 

168 


THE   PIUNGRY   HEART 

"  Yes,"  replied  lie,  "  but  so  sweet." 

Then  the  thin  film  of  surface  over  their  emotions  sud- 
denly burst.  "  Never  again — oh,  my  Courtney !  "  he  cried 
between  set  teeth.  Both  had  thought  all  day  that  they 
were  calm  and  resigned.  They  knew  now  how  they  had 
been  deceiving  themselves.  He  flung  away  from  her. 
Both  knew  what  was  coming,  knew  it  was  too  late  to 
save  themselves,  felt  the  wild  reckless  thrill  of  terror  and 
rapture  that  precedes  the  breaking  down  of  all  barriers, 
the  breaking  up  of  all  foundations,  the  free  sweep  of 
unfettered  passion.  So  young — so  young — with  such  a 
long  stretch  of  empty  years — and  they  never  to  see  each 
other  again ! 

"How  can  I  live  on,  without  you  to  help  me?"  she 
said. 

"  It'll  be  easier  for  you  than  for  me.  You  have — your 
boy.  I  have — nothing."  He  sat  down,  away  from  her, 
stared  into  the  blackness  of  the  copse.  "  Nothing,"  he 
repeated.  He  was  holding  his  breath  and  waiting  for 
the  inevitable  storm  to  break. 

"  Basil !  "  she  cried,  and  in  impulsive  sympathy  reached 
out  and  touched  him.  "  Won't  it  be  something — to  know 
that  you  have  my  heart — my — love  ?  " 

She  felt  him  trembling,  and  there  was  a  sob  in  his 
voice  as  he  answered :  "But  when  your  arms  ache  with 
emptiness,  you  can  put  them  round  Winchie.  While  I — 
Courtney,  how  can  I  touch  another  woman,  when  it's  you 
— you — you — "  And  his  groping  hand  met  hers,  clasped 
it.  He  bent  his  head,  kissed  her  hand — the  back,  the  palm, 
then  the  fingers  one  by  one.  And  they  softly  touched  his 
cheek.  "  Basil !  "  she  sighed. 

The  faint  wind  agitated  the  clusters  of  locust  blooms; 
their  perfume  descended  in  heavy  voluptuous  waves.  He 

169 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

pressed  his  hands  one  against  each  of  her  cheeks.  "  Court- 
ney," he  murmured.  "  My  love — my  dear  love !  "  Their 
lips  met. 

"  We  must  not !  "  she  pleaded,  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  After  to-night,"  he  reminded  her,  "  we,  who  love,  will 
never  see  each  other  again." 

"  Never  again  !  "  she  moaned. 

It  was  the  signal  both  were  unconsciously,  yet  delib- 
erately, awaiting.  He  gave  an  inarticulate  cry,  caught  her 
up  as  a  strong  wind  a  flower.  "  I've  had  enough  of  right 
and  wrong,"  cried  he.  "  You  are  mine !  I  will  not  let 
you  go.  I  love  you — I  love  you — I  love  you !  "  And  he 
showered  kisses  upon  her  until  she,  dizzy  and  fainting, 
yet  never  so  alive,  was  clinging  to  him,  was  calling  him 
endearing  names,  was  laughing  and  sobbing.  And  in  that 
darkness  and  mad  frenzy  of  longing  and  despair  they 
could  pretend  to  themselves  that  it  was  all  as  unreal  as  a 
dream — was,  in  fact,  a  dream,  or  at  worst,  impulse — irre- 
sistible, irresponsible. 

He  felt  her  heart  flutter,  halt  in  its  steady,  strong  beat 
within  her  breast  close  against  his.  She  raised  her  head 
from  his  shoulder,  listened.  "What  is  it?"  he  whispered. 

"  Listen." 

A  bird  broke  from  the  copse  and  with  a  great  noise 
of  wings  against  leaves  blundered  away  to  another  and 
higher  place.  "A  bird — that  was  all,"  said  he. 

"  Sh — h !  No.  They  never  stir  so  suddenly  at  night 
without  cause."  She  was  cold,  was  shivering.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  tingling  with  guilty  alarm. 

"  I'll  go  see." 

"  Yes— do." 

He  disengaged  himself  lingeringly,  with  a  parting 
170 


caress  of  his  lips  along  her  cheek.  "  It's  cold/'  she  mur- 
mured. "  And  I'm — I'm  afraid."  Never  before  in  all 
her  life  had  she  been  afraid. 

He  went  softly  along  the  path  until  the  shadows  hid 
him.  After  a  moment  he  returned  to  the  entrance.  "  I 
see  nothing,"  said  he. 

"  And  I  hear  nothing — any  more/'  replied  she.  "  You 
don't  know  what  a  queer,  creepy  sensation  I  had.  It  was 
— was — as  if  some  one  were  near  us." 

He  did  not  seat  himself  by  her  again.  "  Isn't  it — 
very — very  late  ?  "  he  said  hesitatingly. 

"  Perhaps.  But  come,  dear.  Let's  forget.  It  was 
nothing.  Oh,  I  was  so  happy — and  now — Basil,  I'm  cold." 

Instead  of  sitting  and  taking  her  in  his  arms  he  drew 
her  to  her  feet.  "  I  saw  your  front  door  open,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  you'd  better  go." 

She  flung  herself  into  his  arms.  "  No — no !  "  she 
cried.  "  Not  yet." 

He  held  her  closely,  but  soon  released  her.  "  You  had 
better  go,"  urged  he,  and  she  felt  nervousness  and  con- 
straint in  his  tone,  in  his  touch. 

She  laughed   quietly.      "What  are   you  afraid  of?" 

"  Nothing !  "  he  retorted  stoutly.  "  Still,  the  door  is 
open,  and  some  one  might " 

"  Why,  you're  quite  cold!  ,  .  .  Basil,  what  is  it?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all,"  replied  he,  his  arms  round 
her  again,  his  lips  upon  hers. 

Presently  she  said :  "  I  thought  you  were  neglecting 
me  rather  long.  It's  a  habit  men  have  after — after  a 
woman  is  entirely  theirs." 

"  Don't  say  those  things,  even  in  joke,"  he  begged,  so 
seriously  that  it  jarred  on  her  overwrought  nerves. 

"If  you  take   that  sort   of   remarks    in   earnest/'   said 

171 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

she,  a  trace  of  resentment  in  her  tone,  "  I'll  be  likely  to 
believe  there's  something  in  it." 

"  It  was  so — so  frank,"  apologized  he. 

"Why  not  speak  frankly?"  said  she.  "One  of  the 
joys  of  loving  you  is  that  we'll  be  entirely  frank  with 
each  other.  I'll  never  be  afraid  to  show  you  how  much 
I  love  you,  or  to  say  whatever  thought  comes  into  my  mind. 
And  you  must  feel  that  you  can  be  your  natural  self  always, 
can  speak  out  any  thought  you  may  have,  no  matter  what  it 
is.  All  that  doesn't  mean  much  to  you.  But  to  me — " 
She  drew  a  long,  deep  breath.  "  You — a  man — couldn't 
possibly  know  how  delicious  it  is  to  a  woman  to  be  able  to 
be  her — her  naked  self!  .  .  .  You're  not  listening.  You 
don't  hold  me  tightly.  Are  you  shocked?  " 

"  No,"  answered  he  with  constraint.  "  I  keep  thinking 
of — of — that  door." 

She  was  silent,  offended. 

"  I  wasn't  quite  frank  with  you  a  moment  ago." 

"Already!"  she  sighed.  Then,  repentantly:  "I  know 
I'm  silly.  But  it  means  so  much  to  me  to  feel  that  we — 
you  and  I — can  stand  before  each  other,  just  as  we  are. 
Oh,  I've  hidden  myself  so  long,  Basil.  Your  love — the 
great  temptation  of  it  was  that  it  meant  freedom.  If  I 
were  your  wife,  you'd  expect  all  sorts  of  conventional  things 
of  me.  If  you  were  my  husband,  I'd  feel  and  you'd  feel 
we  had  to  live  up  to  standards  and  do  customary  things. 
As  it  is,  our  love's  free — free !  " 

He  was  silent. 

"  Basil,  don't  you  feel  that  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  absently.  "  But — I  must 
tell  you.  When  I  went  out — a  while  ago  to  look,  I  saw 
Nanny  on  the  porch." 

Even  in  that  dimness  he  saw  the  terror  in  her  face. 

ra 


"  On  the  porch !  "  she  gasped.  She  sprang  up.  "  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  she  cried  angrily. 

"  I — I  thought  it  might  alarm  you  foolishly." 

"  I'm  not  a  hysterical  fool.  Please  don't  forget  that 
— again." 

"  Courtney !  " 

"  Oh,  forgive  me — my  love."  When  they  had  em- 
braced: "Yes — I  must  go — at  once.  .  .  .  Why  can't  you 
come  with  me?  Start  as  soon  as  you  see  I'm  at  the  door. 
But  you  mustn't  cross  the  lawn.  You  must  go  round  by 
the  shadows.  It  would  be  quite  safe.  You  needn't  go 
back  to  the  shop." 

"  Impossible!  " 

She  was  silent,  waiting  for  him  to  feel  how  hurt  she 
was  and  to  reassure  her.  But  he  stood  aloof,  and  pres- 
ently asked  in  a  constrained  voice,  "  How  long  will  you 
be  at  your  father's  ?  " 

"  At  my  father's !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why,  I  shall 
not  go !  " 

"  You  must,"  he  insisted.  "  You've  made  all  the  ar- 
rangements." 

"  You  can  send  me  away — now?  " 

"Please  —  dear.  Don't  be  unreasonable.  If  you 
changed  your  plan  everybody 'd  think  it  strange." 

"  Everybody — who?  " 

"  Nanny,  for  instance." 

"  Nanny  ?  Why  should  I  care  what  Nanny  thinks  ?  My 
first  scare  was  only — guilty  conscience.  Basil,  why  are 
you  so  queer — so  absent  and — distant?  Tell  me — just 
what  it  is  in  your  mind?  " 

She  rested  her  hands  pleadingly  on  his  shoulders  and 
looked  up  at  him.  In  her  eyes,  as  in  his,  shone  the  fever 
of  their  delirium.  He  took  her  hands,  kissed  her.  "  Don't 
13  173 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

be  foolish,"  he  said,  trying  to  laugh.  "  I  guess  I  am  a 
little  bit  unnerved." 

But  she  was  not  satisfied.     "  Basil — do  you  regret  ?  " 

"  Courtney !  Courtney !  "  he  pleaded.  "  That's  the 
way  to  tear  our  happiness  down,  stone  by  stone,  till  noth- 
ing's left  but  ruins.  You  must  not  be  suspicious."  He 
patted  her  reassuringly  on  the  shoulder  with  an  air  of 
possession.  "  Of  course  I  love  you,  more  than  ever." 

"  You  say  it  in  a  tone  that — that  sounds  like  superior 
to  inferior."  She  sighed.  "  Is  nothing  in  the  world  up 
to  its  promise?  Here,  I  thought  we'd  be  perfectly  happy 
— two  pariahs  together — two  lost  souls — but  accepting  our 
punishment  of  secret  shame  and  hypocrisy — accepting  it 
gladly,  as  it  was  the  price  we  had  to  pay  for  freedom 
and  each  other.  And  already,  in  the  first  hour,  we're 
almost  quarreling.  It  must  not  be,  Basil." 

"  No,  dearest,"  he  cried.  "  And  it  will  not  be.  We 
will  be  happy.  Trust  me.  I'm  unstrung — and  maybe 
you,  too.  But  you  know  I  love  you — more  than  I  ever 
thought.  And  really  you  ought  to  go  in  the  morning — 
really,  dearest!  You  need  stay  only  two  days.  You  can 
come  home  the  second  day.  Don't  you  see  we  must — 
must — must  be  careful?  Now  that  there's  something  to 
conceal,  we  can't  act  any  longer  as  we  did." 

She  laid  her  clasped  hand  on  her  breast,  looked  wist- 
fully up  at  him.  "  We  can't  ever  be  free  and  unafraid 
again,  can  we?"  said  she.  "It  isn't  just  one  act  of — 
of  concealment — is  it? — and  freedom  and  openness  after- 
wards. I  see  lies — and  lies — and  yet  more  lies — stretch- 
ing away — away — until —  She  shuddered,  hid  her  face 
in  his  shoulder.  "  Oh,  my  love !  " 

"  I'd  tell  all  the  lies  in  the  world  to  have  you."  He 
embraced  her  almost  roughly.  "  All — all !  And  care  not 

174 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

a  rap.  You — you  are  my  god  and  my  morality.  To  love 
you,  to  have  you,  to  keep  you — that's  all.  The  rest  is 
trash." 

"  Yes — yes,"  echoed  she  feverishly.  "  The  rest  is  trash. 
We've  got  the  best.  Love !  " 

"  And  we'll  hold  on  to  it — always !  " 

"  Must  I  go  in  the  morning,  when  life  has  just  be- 
gun? How  can  I?  No — no — don't  answer.  I  know 
you're  right.  I'll  go — and  .  .  .  Good  by!" 

She  flung  her  arms  about  him.  He  caught  up  her  small, 
warm  body  with  its  soft  curves  and  its  radiations  of  vivid, 
perfumed  life.  Their  lips  clung  together.  They  sepa- 
rated, laughed  dizzily.  She  waved  her  arm  and  darted  up 
the  path.  From  the  shadows  he  watched  her  cross  the 
lawn,  like  some  creation  of  the  summer  and  the  moon- 
light. In  the  doorway  she  paused,  waved  to  him  once 
more;  the  door  closed.  Then  he,  like  a  thief,  sneaked 
along  the  retaining  walls  at  the  lake  shore — now  stooping 
to  keep  in  the  deep  shadow,  out  of  sight  of  anyone  who 
might  be  watching  from  the  house — now  advancing  erect 
with  stealthy  swiftness — until  he  was  able  to  strike  into 
the  darkness  of  the  path  to  the  Smoke  House. 

Midway  in  undressing  his  eyes  chanced  upon  her  pic- 
ture, framed  and  hanging  opposite  the  foot  of  the  bed — a 
large  photograph,  with  Winchie,  a  tiny  baby,  against  her 
shoulder,  his  fat  cheek  pressing  upon  hers.  Basil  stood 
before  the  picture,  his  expression  a  very  human  and  mov- 
ing mingling  of  awe  and  adoration  and  passion.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  to  whom  that  picture  belonged.  "  But 
not  she!  "  he  said  aloud  defiantly.  Nevertheless,  he  flushed, 
hung  his  head,  switched  off  the  light,  and  sought  his  bed. 
"How  can  I  ever  face  him?"  he  muttered.  Then:  "  Slie 

175 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

is  mine!  She  never  was  really  his.  I  take  nothing  that 
belongs  to  him.  I  take  nothing  she  could  give,  or  ever  did 
give,  to  him." 

He  fell  immediately  into  a  sound  sleep — the  exhaustion 
of  nerves  so  long  on  fierce  tension.  But  about  two  in  the 
morning  he  started  up,  listened.  Yes,  some  one  was  mov- 
ing beneath  the  window.  He  went  to  it,  looked  down. 
There  was  Courtney,  swathed  in  a  long,  dark  cloak.  He 
thrust  his  feet  into  slippers,  drew  on  a  big  dressing  gown, 
descended,  and  opened  the  door.  He  stretched  out  his 
arms. 

She  flung  herself  against  his  breast.  "  I  couldn't  go 
without  seeing  you  again,"  she  panted.  "  After  I  left 
you,  and  got  into  bed,  I  began  to  think  all  sorts  of  dread- 
ful things  about  you.  You  acted  so  strangely.  And  then 
I  felt  ashamed  of  myself,  felt  I  must  come  and  beg  your 
pardon.  And — and — here  I  am.  Are  you  glad  ?  " 

His  laugh  was  answer  enough.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms,  carried  her  up  to  the  sitting  room,  set  her  down  on 
the  sofa.  "  How  light  you  are !  "  he  cried.  "  But  how 
strong — I've  seen  you  swing  Winchie  to  your  shoulder  as 
if  he  were  nothing  at  all.  Now — please — won't  you  let 
your  hair  down?  There  never  was  such  hair  as  yours." 

She  sat  up,  let  the  cloak  fall  away.  The  moon  was 
flooding  the  room.  As  she  sat  there,  with  eyes  sparkling 
and  small,-  sensitive  face  shy-bold,  she  looked  as  if  she 
had  sprung  to  mortal  life  from  an  old  folk  song  about 
loreleis  and  nymphs  and  enchanted  princesses.  "  You 
floated  in  on  the  moonbeams,"  he  declared.  "  I'm  afraid, 
if  I  don't  shut  the  window,  you'll  flit  away." 

"  That'd  not  stop  me,"  laughed  she.  And  she  began 
to  take  her  hair  down.  Just  as  it  was  about  to  unroll,  she 
paused.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  it  down  yourself  ?  " 

176 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

He  went  round  behind  her,  drew  out  the  hairpins  one 
by  one,  fumbling  softly,  lingeringly  for  them,  keeping 
them  carefully.  Her  hair  loosened,  uncoiled,  fell  about  her 
in  a  shimmering  veil.  "Oh,  my  love!"  he  cried.  "My 
beautiful  Courtney !  "  And  he  took  the  soft,  perfumed 
veil  in  his  hands,  kissed  it  again  and  again,  buried  his  face 
in  it,  wrapped  her  head  and  his  together  in  it. 

She  laughed  delightedly,  then  drew  away,  looking  at 
him  with  mock  severity.  "  And  where,  sir,  did  you  learn 
how  to  make  a  woman  so  happy  ?  " 

"What  things  you  do  say!"  he  laughed,  just  a  little 
bit  scandalized.  "  I  might  ask  the  same  question  of  you." 

"  And  I  can  answer  it — "  with  a  mocking  smile — 
"  without  evasion.  Imagination.  I've  so  often  thought — 
and  thought — and  thought — what  I  would  be  to  a  man  I 
freely  loved — one  I  wasn't  afraid  of  scandalizing.  Oh,  I 
know  I  shock  you — for  there's  a  great  deal  you've  yet  to 
learn  about  women — that  they're  human,  just  like  men. 
But  you'll  learn — and  then  I  think  you'll  see  I'm  good — 
for  I  am.  I  couldn't  be  bad — hate  anyone — play  mean 
tricks,  say  or  do  mean  things.  Don't  you  wish  I  were  tall — 
wish  there  were  more  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  live  through  it." 

"  And  you  really — really — love  me  ?  " 

He  held  her  tightly  by  the  shoulders,  gazed  into  her 
eyes.  "  So  much  that,  if  you  were  untrue  to  me,  I'd  kill 
you." 

"  Now,  what  made  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

Thoughtfully:  "  I  guess  it  is  because  I'm  giving  my- 
self to  you  when  I  am — am —  Now,  there  you  go,  shocked 
again." 

He  laughed  recklessly.  "  Give  me  time,"  said  he,  "  and 
177 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

I'll  get  used  to  it.     You  say  you'd  rather  I  showed  just 
how  I  felt  than  locked  it  away  and  pretended." 

"  Yes — yes — a  thousand  times !  I  don't  mind  your  be- 
ing shocked — not  really."  With  a  queer  little  laugh,  "  I'm 
shocked  myself.  Somehow  I  seem  to  delight  in  shocking 
myself — and  you.  Loving  you  is — all  sorts  of  pleasures 
and  pains.  I  want  them  all !  " 

"  All !  "  he  echoed.     "  Yes— all !  " 

Midway  in  her  embrace  she  stopped  him,  pushed  him 
laughingly  away  with,  "  But  you  weren't  quite  frank  a 
while  ago." 

"When?" 

"  There  at  the  lake." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  see  one  of  those  little  toy  spaniels — 
how  they  quiver  and  shiver  all  the  time?  I'm  just  as 
sensitive  as  that.  You  mustn't  try  to  deceive  me — ever ! 
You  mustn't  say  or  act  any  of  those  hypocrisies  of  what 
some  people  call  good  taste,  either.  They're  not  necessary 
with  me.  They'd  make  me  feel  deceived.  I  might  not 
confess  I  knew — and  then —  '  The  little  rift  within  the 
lute.'  " 

"  I  guess  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  for  the  moment  deeply 
impressed.  "  Yes,  I  will." 

"  Tell  me  everything — everything.  There  mustn't  be 
any  concealment — anything  to  lie  hid  away  in  the  depths 
of  some  dark  closet  to  rot  and  rot  and  infect  the  whole 
house."  She  suddenly  lowered  her  'head;  and,  as  the  full 
meaning  of  her  words,  the  meaning  she  had  not  foreseen, 
reached  him,  he,  too,  became  ill  at  ease. 

Presently  he  said:  "  I  didn't  want  to  frighten  you  need- 
lessly. When  I  saw  Nanny — she  was — just  going  up  the 
steps  of  the  porch." 

178 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Courtney's  eyes  widened  and  her  face  blanched.  "  You 
think —  "  she  began  when  she  could  find  voice. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  which  direction  she  hc.d  come  from,"  he 
replied.  "  But  it's  no  matter.  She  couldn't  know." 

Courtney  remembered  the  darkness — how  grateful  she 
had  been  for  its  friendly  aid.  "  No,"  said  she  resolutely. 
"  She  couldn't  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  echoed  he,  as  if  the  idea  that  she 
could  were  absurd.  "  But  it  made  me  realize  how  care- 
ful we  must  be." 

"  Yes,"  replied  she  thoughtfully.  "  Yes."  And  she 
was  clinging  to  him,  was  sobbing.  "  Oh,  my  love — my 
love — I  don't  care  what  comes,  if  only  it  does  not  sepa- 
rate us.  .  .  .  Look !  Look !  "  she  cried,  pointing  out  into 
the  sky.  "  Dawn !  I  must  fly.  Where  are  my  slippers  !  " 

He  found  them  for  her,  put  them  on,  bundled  her  into 
her  cloak,  picked  her  up,  and  hurried  downstairs  with  her. 
"  I'm  not  so  little,"  said  she.  "  It's  because  you're  so  big 
and  strong.  One  kiss — quick !  " 

He  kissed  her — on  the  lips  and,  as  she  turned  to  go, 
again  on  the  nape  of  the  neck.  "  Day  after  to-morrow !  " 
he  cried. 

"  Yes,  I'll  come  here  at  nine,  rain  or  shine." 

And  she  ran  along  the  path.  The  moon  had  set;  it 
•was  intensely  dark.  Arriving  within  sight  of  the  house 
she  stopped  short.  There  were  lights,  upstairs  and  down, 
shadows  of  moving  figures  on  the  curtains.  "  God !  "  she 
ejaculated.  "What  shall  I  do!"  And  for  the  first  time 
the  great  fear — the  fear  a  woman  has  when  she  thinks  she 
has  lost  her  reputation — buried  its  talons  in  her  throat 
and  its  beak  in  her  heart.  Do?  Face  it!  She  lifted  her 
head  high,  gathered  herself  together,  advanced  boldly.  As 
she  entered  the  front  door  she  ran  into  Nanny. 

179 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  she  demanded.  In 
the  same  instant  her  courage  fled  and  she  leaned  faint 
against  the  wall.  "  Winchie  i  "  she  gasped.  "  Has  some- 
thing happened  to  him?  " 

Nanny  was  standing  stiffly  with  eyes  down — a  sullen 
figure,  accusing,  contemptuous.  But  she  answered  respect- 
fully enough  if  surlily:  "Winchie  missed  you  and  came 
up  and  waked  me  and  Mazie  just  now." 

Down  the  stairs  came  the  boy,  sobbing,  shouting, 
"  Mamma !  Mamma !  I  lost  you." 

Courtney  caught  him  up,  hugged  him,  kissed  him. 
"  You  silly  baby !  "  she  cried,  laughing.  "  What  a  fuss 
about  nothing.  Put  out  the  lights,  Nannie."  Halfway 
up  the  stairs  she  hesitated.  Would  it  be  more  natural 
to  make  an  explanation  or  to  say  nothing?  She  decided 
it  was  best,  more  like  her  usual  self,  to  say  nothing.  "  Put 
out  the  lights  and  go  to  bed,"  she  repeated. 


XII 

SHE  had  said  nine  o'clock,  but  it  was  not  quite  half 
past  eight,  the  next  evening  but  one,  when  she  appeared 
at  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  He  was  seated  in  the  en- 
trance to  the  upper  story,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  opening 
in  the  trees  where  the  path  emerged.  At  first  glimpse 
of  her  in  the  long  dark  cloak,  he  flung  away  his  cigarette 
and  rushed  toward  her.  He  embraced  her,  then  held  her 
off  as  if  to  reassure  himself  that  it  was  really  she.  "  Do 
you  still  love  me?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you  sure?  " 

The  emerald  eyes  flashed  up  at  him.  Her  face,  re- 
vealed in  the  starlight,  was  gravely  earnest  and  sweet. 
But  beneath  her  calm,  as  beneath  his,  there  was  evidently 
still  raging  the  hysteria  that  had  whirled  both  clean  out 
of  the  realm  of  vanity  and  sense — the  fever  that  keeps 
whirling  the  soul  it  seizes  from  pinnacle  to  abyss  and 
back  again.  "  Ever  since  we  separated/'  said  she,  "  I've 
been  imagining  I  was  struggling  to  give  up  our  love.  But 
as  the  time  for  me  to  come  got  nearer  and  nearer,  I  real- 
ized what  a  fraud  I  was." 

"  Do  you  love  me?  " 

"  I  am  here." 

They  sat  side  by  side  in  the  entrance.  "  May  I 
smoke?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do."  As  he  opened  his  cigarette  case,  "  Let  me  have 
one." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  smoked." 

"  Oh — a  little — at  college.  We  girls  used  to  do  it,  for 
181 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  sensation  of  being  devilish.  Wouldn't  you  like  me  to 
smoke  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  to." 

"  You  don't  approve  ?  " 

"  Well — I  don't  exactly  like  for  women  to  smoke  or  use 
slang.  Those  things  seem  sort  of  unsexing.  Of  course, 
it's  only  an  idea." 

She  smiled  indulgently,  rolling  the  cigarette  to  loosen 
the  tobacco,  as  Basil  did,  with  a  great  air  of  being  an  old 
hand  at  it.  "  I'm  afraid  you're  narrow." 

"  I  guess  I  am." 

"  Gracious !     What  you  must  be  thinking  of  me !  " 

As  she  said  it,  she  gave  that  little  audacious  laugh  of 
delight  in  her  freedom  to  be  frank.  But  he  became  grave, 
and  it  was  with  deep  earnestness  that  he  answered,  "  I 
love  you." 

She,  too,  was  grave  and  thoughtful  now.  "  What  a 
difference  that  does  make !  Then  everything — anything 
seems  all  right." 

"  And  is !  " 

She  put  her  arm  through  his.  "  Here,  take  your  cigar- 
ette. I'll  not  distress  you." 

"  No — do  smoke." 

"  I'll  confess  the  real  reason.  It  makes  such  a  nasty 
taste  in  my  mouth." 

He  tossed  his  cigarette  into  the  grass.  His  every  ges- 
ture— and  hers — betrayed  what  a  strain  they  were  under- 
going, how  deceptive  was  their  appearance  of  sanity. 

"  Now,  what  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  exclaimed  she. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  smoke  when  I'm  going  to  kiss  you." 

She  put  her  cigarette  to  his  lips.  "  Please,"  she  urged. 
"  I  like  you  to  smoke.  Don't  you  know  a  woman  likes 
everything,  even  the  unpleasant  things,  that  make  a  man 

182 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

different  from  her?  .  .  .  Smoke,  and  tell  me  what  you've 
been  doing.  It's  forty  hours  since  we  were  together." 

"  I've  been  conscious  of  pretty  nearly  every  one  of 
them,"  said  he.  "  I've  done  nothing  but  think  of  you." 

"  Sad  thoughts  ?  " 

"  Very.  But  I'll  not  do  that  again.  What's  the  use, 
Courtney?  We've  got  to  have  each  other.  What's  the  use 
of  struggling  against  it?  " 

"  I  can't  realize  it — I  can't,"  said  she  absently.  "  Last 
night — out  at  father's — I  got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
and  ran  and  looked  at  myself  in  the  glass.  And — "  She 
paused. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  I  could  look  myself  straight  in  the  eyes  and  tell 
myself  what  I  had  been  to  you,  and  not  feel  like  hiding. 
Is  it  that  I'm  not  doing  anything  bad  or  that  I'm  so  bad 
I  don't  know  good  from  bad?  " 

"  It's  love,"  declared  he  gloomily. 

"  I  can  look  back  now  and  see  that  from  the  begin- 
ning— from  the  day  I  saw  you  cared — I've  been  coming 
straight  to  you.  I  was  lying  to  myself." 

"  I,  too,"  he  confessed.  "  Courtney,  we've  been — and 
are — in  the  clutch  of  a  force  that's  stronger  than  we." 

"  I — don't — know,"  said  she  slowly.  Then,  with  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  "  and  I  don't  care.  If  conscience 
tolls  its  ugly  bell,  I'll  shout  '  Love !  Love ! '  so  loud  that 
it'll  be  drowned.  I  must  have  love — I  will  have  love. 
And  how  can  I  help  loving  you,  who  are  so  altogether 
wonderful  in  every  way?  You've  only  kissed  me  once 
since  I  came." 

"  Twice." 

"And  what's  twice?" 

For  answer  he  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  carried  her 
183 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

up  to  the  sitting  room.  With  all  of  her  within  his  arms, 
he  sat  in  the  big  armchair.  "  Now !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  We'll 
be  happy !  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  what  a  scare  when  I  was  here  before !  " 
She  sat  up  and  told  him  about  Winchie's  raising  the  hue 
and  cry  for  her.  He  listened  with  a  somber  countenance. 
When  she  had  finished  he  said,  "  And  where's  Winchie 
now !  " 

"  In  bed — asleep." 

"  But — if  he  wakes !  " 

"  Why,  he'll  lie  perfectly  quiet  till  he  sleeps  again. 
I  told  him  never  to  repeat  that  escapade." 

"  But  he  may  get  frightened " 

"  You  forget,  sir,"  said  she  smilingly,  "  he's  my  child. 
He  could  not  be  afraid.  .  .  .  What  a  mournful  face !  " 

"  I'm  horribly  jealous  of  him." 

"  If  Winchie  didn't  keep  us  apart,  he  never  could  push 
us  apart  now." 

"  I'm  very  selfish,"  he  said  despondently.  "  I  want  all 
—all !  " 

"  Here  we  are — sad  again." 

He  sighed.     "  And  in  a  few  minutes  you'll  have  to  go." 

"Why?" 

"  You  can't  stay  away  from  the  house.  Something 
might  happen." 

"  Croak !     Croak !  " 

He  passed  his  hand  impatiently  over  his  face.  "  I'm 
a  fool !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  must  learn  to  be  content  with 
what  I  have — when  it's  so  much — so  vastly  more  than  I 
ever  dared  hope — or — "  He  stared  out  into  the  darkness. 
The  ducks  among  the  reeds  close  inshore  were  quacking 
discontented  forebodings  of  rain.  "  I  trifle  with  my  good 
fortune." 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?"  she  asked,  her  cheek 
against  his. 

"  Nothing.     Nothing." 

"  What  have  you  been  thinking  while  I  was  away  ?  .  .  . 
Look  at  me,  Basil." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  can't  ever  look — anyone  in  the  face 
again." 

She  understood  who  "  anyone  "  was.  She  pressed  closer 
to  him,  said  caressingly:  "  Except  me.  You  can  always 
look  at  me,  and  I  at  you.  And  what  more  do  we  want?  " 

He  did  not  echo  her  tender  reckless  laugh,  with  its 
threat  of  a  storm  of  hysterical  tears.  "  You  have  good 
excuse  for  what  you've  done.  But  there's  no  excuse 
for  me." 

She  seemed  to  be  shrinking  within  herself.  He  gently 
put  her  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  went  to  the  window,  stood 
there  with  his  back  to  her.  "  The  truth  is,  I've  been  in 
hell  since  you  left,  Courtney — a  hell  of  remorse !  " 

"Remorse!  Excuse!"  Her  bosom  heaved;  her  eyes 
flashed.  "  Oh,  you  men !  What  hypocrites  you  are !  .  .  . 
Tell  me,  do  you  wish  to  give  me  up  ?  " 

He  faced  her.  "  I  cannot  give  you  up,"  was  his  in- 
flexible reply. 

"  Then  dismiss  all  these  gloomy  ideas,"  urged  she. 
"  Excuse  ?  You  think  I  have  the  excuse  of — of  his  indif- 
ference, of  his  tyranny  and  bad  temper — of  his — — " 

"  For  God's  sake,  Courtney,  don't  say  those  things !  " 

"  I  think  them — you  think  them.  Why  not  say 
them?" 

"  Yes — you  are  right.     I  am  a  hypocrite." 

"  How  easily  we  hurt  each  other,"  she  sighed.  Then, 
"  But  how  easily  it  heals,  too."  She  went  on :  "  We  were 
talking  of  excuses.  Anyone  can  find  an  excuse  for  any- 

185 


THE   H UNGRY   HEART 

thing.  Only  weak  people  look  for  excuses."  She  ele- 
vated her  head  proudly.  "  I  want  no  excuse  for  what  I 
did,  for  what  I'm  doing.  I  need  no  excuse.  Do  I  not 
own  my  heart,  my  self?  I  have  the  right  of  my  youth, 
of  my  love.  Isn't  that  enough?  " 

"  The  right  of  our  love !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  gay  and 
confident  as  he  had  been  depressed  and  doubtful.  "  We're 
wasting  time.  Let's  talk  and  think  only  of  love."  And 
he  drew  her  down  into  the  chair,  into  his  arms.  "  Court- 
ney— when  he  does  come — promise  me  you  will  not — will 
not " 

There  he  halted,  for  the  wave  that  passed  over  her  as 
she  lay  in  his  arms  told  him  that  she  understood.  "  You 
know  I  will  not,"  she  said.  "  I  belong  to  you,  now." 

"  But  he  may " 

She  laid  her  fingers  on  his  lips.  "  Trust  me,"  she 
said.  "  I've  planned  it  all.  Only,  that's  the  one  thing 
we  mustn't  ever  talk  about."  She  laughed,  with  desper- 
ate straining  to  be  audacious.  "  There  is  honor,  even  in 
the  dishonorable." 

"You  —  dishonorable?  I,  perhaps  —  yes,  certainly. 
But  you — you  belong  to  yourself.  It  is  I  who  will  play 
the  part  of  dishonor.  You  can  be  as  cold  and  distant  as 
you  like.  I  must  smile  and  pretend  to  be  a  friend."  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  That's  manly !  "  exclaimed  she,  nerves  instantly  un- 
strung. 

"  What  can  you  expect  of — of  me?  "  he  replied,  so 
down  that  she  straightway  relented. 

"Let's  drop  this  subject,  dear,"  she  pleaded.  "Let's 
never  speak  of  it  again — and  think  of  it  as  little  as  possi- 
ble. It's  one  of  the  conditions  of  our  life.  We  will  admit 
it — and  ignore  it." 

186 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  How  can  we  drop  a  subject  that  crops  out,  comes  to 
the  tips  of  our  tongues,  every  time  we  look  at  each  other? 
But  be  patient,  dear.  I  shall  grow  hardened " 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  not,  Basil !  "  she  cried  in  dismay. 
"  We  must  not.  That's  our  danger,  and  we  must  fight  it. 
.  .  .  Isn't  it  pitiful!  If  we  were  two  coarse  people,  mere 
animals,  merely  the  ordinary  man  and  woman,  why,  we'd 
be  happy  and  never  give  remorse  a  thought." 

"If  we  suffer  more,  we  enjoy  more,"  said  he,  clasping 
her  as  if  some  power  had  tried  to  snatch  her  away.  "  When 
I  feel  ashamed,  Courtney,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  remem- 
ber your  hair,  to  feel  again  its  soft  splendor  on  my  face, 
between  my  fingers — and  I  am  delirious." 

"  Love — always  love !  "  she  murmured.  "  No  price  too 
great  to  pay  for  it." 

They  heard  steps — stealthy  steps — upon  the  walk,  just 
under  the  bedroom  window.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  hear,"  he  whis- 
pered, as  in  the  darkness  she  clutched  his  arm.  He  went 
to  the  open  window,  she  sitting  up,  rigid,  wide-eyed,  with 
bated  breath.  Keeping  in  the  shadow,  he  glanced  down. 
He  saw  a  man,  half  hidden  in  the  shrubbery.  A  moment 
and  his  eyes  focused  so  that  he  saw  the  outline  of  the  man's 
face,  the  angle  of  his  head — saw  that  the  man  was  peer- 
ing up  toward  that  very  window.  He  went  softly  back  to 
her.  "  Go  into  the  sitting  room,"  he  said.  "  I  think  it's 
one  of  those  prowlers." 

"Sh-h!"  she  warned.  "Listen —  On  the  stairs." 
Both  stopped  breathing  and  listened.  It  was  the  faint- 
est of  sounds,  but  unmistakable.  Yes,  it  was  a  robber.  He 
was  ascending  the  stairway — slowly,  silently,  steadily,  up 
and  up,  step  by  step.  Now  they  would  miss  the  sound 
altogether;  then  it  would  come  again — nearer,  softer. 

187 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Their  hands  were   clasped — were  like  ice,  but  without  a. 
tremor. 

"  How  did  he  get  in  ?  "  she  breathed. 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  I  left  the  outside  door  un- 
locked— wide  open." 

"  Sh-h ! " 

"  Go  back  into  the  sitting  room,"  he  whispered. 

"  No — I  stay  here  with  you." 

The  awful  sound,  so  faint,  so  relentless,  was  in  the 
hall.  "  Go !  "  he  commanded.  "  You'd  be  in  my  way, 
dear.  If  I  need  you,  I'll-  call." 

She  saw  that  he  was  right — that  at  least  he  must  not 
feel  hampered.  She  pressed  his  hand,  glided  into  the 
sitting  room.  Suddenly  she  almost  cried  out.  "  Is  the 
bedroom  door  locked? "  she  called  in  a  hoarse  under- 
tone. 

He  made  a  silent  dash  for  it,  to  lock  it.  Too  late. 
It  opened.  He  could  see  nothing  in  the  black  hall.  He 
made  a  forward  leap,  right  hand  clinched,  left  hand  open 
and  ready  to  inclose  a  throat.  His  fist  thrust  past  the 
man's  head,  but  his  left  fingers  closed  upon  the  throat, 
and  his  weight  bore  the  man  to  the  floor.  But  the  prowler 
was  not  taken  wholly  by  surprise.  Basil  instantly  realized 
how  fortunate  it  was  that  he  had  got  the  initial  advantage. 
The  two  grappled;  a  short,  sharp  struggle  and  Gal- 
latin  felt  the  form  under  him  relax.  He  took  an  even 
stronger  hold  on  the  throat,  planted  his  knee  squarely  in 
the  chest.  "I've  got  him!"  he  cried  to  Courtney.  "Go! 
Go!" 

But  he  triumphed  too  soon.  With  a  tremendous  effort 
the  prowler  tore  Gallatin's  fingers  from  his  throat.  "  Good 
God,  Gallatin — is  it  you?  "  he  gasped. 

"  Vaughan !  " 

188 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Gallatin  dropped  all  to  pieces.  But  Courtney  was  in- 
stantly herself — and  more.  On  went  the  lights,  and  she 
burst  out  laughing.  Gallatin  rose,  staggered  over  to  the 
window  seat.  Vaughan,  not  without  difficulty,  picked  him- 
self up  from  the  floor,  gazed  savagely  from  Gallatin  to 
his  wife.  She  kept  on  laughing,  more  and  more  wildly, 
laughed  until  she  fell  into  a  chair,  sat  there  laughing,  with 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  "  Was  ever  anything 
so  ridiculous !  "  she  gasped.  And  she  looked  from  one  to 
the  other,  and  went  off  again. 

Vaughan,  straightening  his  collar  and  coat  and  waist- 
coat, appealed  to  Gallatin.  "  What's  the  meaning  of  this?  " 
he  demanded. 

By  way  of  reply  Gallatin  stared  at  him,  as  if  debat- 
ing whether  or  not  to  renew  the  attack. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Courtney  ?  "  Vaughan  said  to 
her  sharply. 

"  That's  what  we'd  like  to  know,"  replied  she. 

"Why   did  Gallatin— 

"  Serves  you  right,"  interrupted  Courtney.  "  Why  did 
you  come  prowling  round  here?  Why  didn't  you  go 
home  ?  " 

Vaughan  looked  sheepish.  "  Well,  I  wanted  to  make 
sure  everything  was  all  right  here." 

Courtney  smiled  with  resentment  in  her  raillery.  "  You 
iwere  more  anxious  about  your  workshop  than  about  your 
wife  and  child." 

Vaughan  reddened.  "  Oh,  I  knew  everything  was  all 
right  at  the  house,"  he  stammered.  His  glance  fell  upon 
the  tumbled  bed.  "  Why !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Some  one's 
living  here !  " 

Gallatin,  startled,  was  standing  up  with  his  hands 
clinched.  But  she  had  no  fear.  She  did  not  feel  guilty 
13  189 


toward  this  man,  who  was  nothing  real  to  her;  and  she 
knew  enough  about  him  to  know  that  his  absolute  belief 
that  good  women  were  good,  and  could  not  stray  even  in 
thought,  made  it  impossible  to  tax  his  credulity.  All  that 
was  necessary  was  boldness.  "  Mr.  Gallatin  is  living  here," 
said  she  composedly. 

"  Gallatin !  "  exclaimed  Vaughan.  "  Why,  I  locked  the 
whole  place  up."  He  wheeled  on  Basil.  "  How  did  you 
get  in  here?  "  he  asked.  "  Didn't  I  make  it  plain  to  you 
from  the  outset — didn't  we  have  a  distinct  understand- 
ing  " 

"  Richard !  "  interrupted  Courtney  sharply.  "  Mr.  Gal- 
latin is  here  because  I  sent  him  here." 

Richard  concentrated  his  angry  attention  upon  her. 
"  You !  What  right  had  you " 

"  You  will  not  address  me  in  that  tone,"  said  she 
haughtily.  "  You  come  back  home,  like  a  thief  in  the 
night.  You  give  me  a  fright.  You  half  kill  Mr.  Gallatin, 
and  then  you  begin  to  quarrel.  I  repeat,  Mr.  Gallatin  is 
here  because  I  sent  him." 

"  I  thought  it  best  to  live  here  while  you  were  away," 
said  Gallatin  stiffly.  He  did  not  wish  to  throw  upon  Court- 
ney the  whole  burden,  yet  he  hardly  dared  speak,  as  he 
could  not  see  how  she  hoped  to  extricate  herself  and  him. 
In  his  guilt,  in  his  ignorance  of  such  a  character  as  Rich- 
ard's, he  was  amazed  at  her  having  hope.  He  thought  her 
courage  superhuman. 

Vaughan  glanced,  half  amused,  half  disdainful,  from 
one  to  the  other.  "  Are  you  two  still  disliking  each  other  ? 
I  had  forgotten  that." 

"  You  are  misaken,"  said  Gallatin.  "  I  do  not  dislike 
Mrs.  Vaughan." 

But  Vaughan  did  not  hear.  "  What  on  earth — "  he 
190 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

suddenly  ejaculated,  staring  at  Gallatin,  then  at  Court- 
ney— "  What  on  earth  were  you  two  doing  here  in  the 
dark?" 

Gallatin  grew  white  as  chalk.  But  Vaughan  was  look- 
ing at  Courtney.  "  We  weren't  in  the  dark,"  said  she, 
with  never  a  tremor  of  eye  or  voice.  "  We  were  in  the 
sitting  room."  As  she  spoke  she  threw  open  the  door  be- 
tween the  two  rooms.  Gallatin  gazed  into  the  sitting 
room  like  a  man  seeing  a  miracle.  The  lights  there  were 
all  bright.  The  instant  she  had  heard  her  husband's  out- 
cry, she  had  turned  on  the  lights  in  both  rooms,  the  but- 
tons being  on  either  side  of  the  same  wall  just  beyond 
the  door  frame;  and  she  had  closed  the  sitting-room  door 
before  the  two  rose  from  the  floor. 

"  Come  in  here/'  she  said,  leading  the  way.  "  I  kept 
getting  more  and  more  afraid  at  the  house,"  she  went 
on  in  rapid,  easy  explanation.  "  It  was  very  lonesome — 
there  were  several  robberies  in  the  neighborhood — and 
Nanny  and  Lizzie  and  Mazie  sleep  so  far  away  from  my 
rooms.  I  took  Winchie  and  went  home  for  a  couple  of 
days,  but  it  wasn't  convenient  for  me  to  stay  there — and 
so  dull!  I  came  back  to-night,  and  strolled  down  here 
after  dinner  to  make  my  peace  with  Basil — "  Here  she 
made  a  mocking  bow  to  him — "  and  to  ask  him  to  please 
come  up  and  guard  the  house.  How  well  you're  looking, 
Richard !  " 

"  I  do  feel  bang  up,"  said  Vaughan,  "  except  here —  " 
He  touched  his  throat  where  Gallatin's  fingers  had  closed 
in.  "  The  trip  was  just  what  I  needed.  I  went  to  a 
specialist  in  New  York,  and  I  serve  notice  on  both  of  you 
that  I've  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  I'll  take  regular  exer- 
cise again — and  stop  grinding  away  all  day  and  all  even- 
ing. The  great  discovery  of  the  fuel  that  will  make  it 

191 


as  cheap  to  be  warm  as  to  be  cold  can  wait.  Perhaps  it'll 
come  the  sooner  if  I  keep  in  condition." 

"  That's  sensible/'  said  Courtney.  "  And  you  must  live 
at  home,  and  let  Mr.  Gallatin  stay  on  here." 

"  It's  good  advice.  I'll  take  it,"  assented  Vaughan 
promptly.  "  Being  here  tempts  me  to  work  when  I  ought 
to  be  resting."  He  threw  a  good-humored  look  at  Galla- 
tin. "  I  guess  you're  not  likely  to  succumb  to  that  temp- 
tation, old  man." 

"  Not  I"  said  Basil,  with  the  first  sickly  hint  of  a 
smile. 

"  Gad,  it's  good  to  be  home !  "  Vaughan  was  gazing 
at  Courtney  now,  in  his  eyes  the  proprietorial  look,  bold, 
amorous.  "  She's  looking  well — eh — Gallatin?  " 

Basil  did  not  answer.  He  was  glowering  at  Vaughan, 
and  biting  his  lip,  and  his  fingers  were  twitching. 

Courtney  rose.  "  Let's  all  go  up  to  the  house/'  pro- 
posed she:  "You'll  come,  won't  you,  Mr. — beg  pardon — 
Basil?" 

Gallatin  stared  coldly  at  her.  Her  "  superhuman  cour- 
age "  now  seemed  sheer  brazenness  to  him.  "  Thanks — 
no,"  said  he  in  a  suffocating  voice. 

"  Hope  I  didn't  damage  you,  Gallatin,"  said  Vaughan 
with  the  rather  careless  solicitude  of  man  for  man. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Gallatin  curtly. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  old  man,"  cried  Richard.  "  Look  at 
my  throat."  He  inspected  it  himself  in  the  mirror  rue- 
fully. "If  I  can  forgive  you,  you  ought  to  forgive  me. 
Come  along,  Courtney." 

He  took  her  bjr  the  arm,  smiling  at  her,  she  mustering 
a  return  smile.  Basil  was  looking  intently  at  her,  with 
an  expression  of  cold  fury.  When  he  caught  her  eye  he 
sneered.  She,  already  at  the  breaking  pitch,  could  not 

192 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

endure  that  contempt.  She  looked  piteously  at  him,  gave 
a  low  cry,  sank  upon  the  sofa,  fell  over  in  a  dead  faint. 

Basil  gazed  stupidly  at  her.  Vaughan  dashed  into  the 
bath  room,  reappeared  with  a  wet  towel,  rubbed  her  tem- 
ples and  her  wrists  with  it.  She  opened  her  eyes,  looked 
round — saw  Basil.  "  Take  me  away !  "  she  sobbed.  "  Take 
me  away!  " 

Her  husband  gathered  her  into  his  arms  as  if  she  were 
a  tired  child.  "  Good  night,  Gallatin.  See  you  in  the 
morning,"  he  said,  and  strode  out  with  her. 

Gallatin  fell  into  one  of  those  futile  rages  that  are 
the  steam  of  the  strife  between  a  man's  desire  and  his 
courage.  "  It's  my  love  for  her,"  he  assured  himself, 
"  that  keeps  me  from  following  him  and  taking  her  from 
him."  Pie  found  small  comfort  in  this,  however;  for,  he 
suspected  it  was  only  part — a  minor  part — of  a  truth,  the 
rest  of  which  was  altogether  to  his  discredit.  He  sat, 
he  leaned,  he  stood  at  the  bedroom  window  overlooking  the 
path.  Again  and  again  he  fancied  he  saw  her,  a  new 
and  deeper  shadow  in  the  shadows  beneath  the  trees. 
Whenever  the  wind  stirred  a  bush  there,  his  fanciful  hope 
made  it  her  cloak.  He  knew  it  was  impossible  for  her 
to  return;  but  he  could  not  give  up.  He  did  not  leave 
the  window  until  dawn.  Then,  he  lay  on  the  bed,  ex- 
hausted, wretched,  burning  with  hate  for  Richard,  with 
rage  against  her,  with  contempt  for  himself. 


XIII 

TOWARD  eight  o'clock  came  Vaughan,  in  high  spirits. 
Basil,  stiff  and  sore,  was  still  lying  on  the  bed. 

"  Sure  you  don't  want  breakfast  ? "  said  Richard. 
Then,  getting  a  view  of  his  partner's  face:  "You  are  a 
sight!  I  beg  pardon,  old  man.  I've  got  a  few  marks, 
myself.  But —  You  must  have  the  doctor." 

"  No,  thanks,"  was  Basil's  surly  answer.  "  I'm  all 
right." 

"  But  you  ought  to  do  something  for  that  eye — and  that 
cheek.  I  sure  did  give  you  some  hard  punches."  As  this 
sounded  as  if  it  were — and  was — not  without  a  certain 
pride,  he  added :  "  The  worst  you  gave  me  are  hidden  by 
my  clothes — except  these  finger  marks.  What  a  stupid 
thing  for  me  to  do!  And  poor  Courtney's  quite  done  up 
this  morning.  Really,  old  man,  you'd  better  let  me  send 
for  the  doctor." 

"  I'll  telephone  for  him,"  said  Basil.  "  I  want  to  be 
left  alone." 

"  Beg  pardon.  I've  done  nothing  but  apologize  ever 
since  I  got  home.  Well,  I'll  go  to  work.  Don't  bother 
to  come  down  to-day.  I  shan't  need  you." 

Gallatin  muttered  "  Selfish  beast,"  as  soon  as  Dick  was 
clear  of  the  room.  And  it  was  undeniable  that  Dick's 
pretense  of  sympathy  had  been  rather  more  offhand  than 
sucn  pretenses  usually  are.  He  had  never  had  to  con- 
ciliate and  cultivate  his  fellow  beings  in  getting  a  living, 
and  had  been  brought  up  indulgently  by  Colonel  'Kill  and 

194 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Eudosia.  Thus  he  was  candid  in  his  selfishness,  often 
appeared  worse  than  would  a  man  who  was  in  reality 
more  selfish,  but  was  through  fear  or  training,  less  self- 
revealing.  However,  Basil  was  not  one  with  the  right 
in  any  circumstances  to  be  censorious  of  such  undiplo- 
matic conduct;  for  he,  too,  had  been  born  and  bred  to 
wealth  and  security,  and  had  been  "  spoiled  "  by  a  wor- 
shipful family. 

Not  for  a  week  did  he  dare  show  his  face.  Dick 
called  twice  a  day — did  all  the  talking — always  about 
the  chemistry  into  which  he  had  plunged  with  freshened 
energy  and  enthusiasm.  Usually  he  apologized  for 
Courtney's  not  coming — "  She  still  feels  weak  and  up- 
set," he  would  say,  "  and  wants  me  to  make  her  ex- 
cuses. I  tell  her  you'd  refuse  to  see  her  even  if  she 
could  come." 

When  Basil's  face  and  complexion  were  once  more 
about  normal,  he  waited  until  Richard  was  at  work  down- 
stairs, then  adventured  the  path  to  the  house.  He  found 
Courtney  in  the  sitting  room,  in  a  negligee,  sewing; 
Winchie  was  building  a  lofty  house  of  blocks  on  the 
veranda  just  outside  for  her  to  admire.  He  scowled  at 
Winchie;  Winchie  scowled  at  him  and,  when  his  back  was 
turned,  made  a  face  at  him.  "  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Vaugh- 
an,"  said  he  coldly.  "  I've  come  to  pack  my  traps."  In 
a  lower  tone  that  was  menacing,  he  added,  "  I  want  to 
see  you." 

She  laid  aside  her  sewing,  a  strained  expression  in  the 
eyes  that  shone  wistfully  in  her  pallid  face.  The  boy 
dropped  the  block  he  was  putting  into  place  and  stood 
up.  "  Go  on  with  the  house,  Winchie,"  said  she.  Then 
to  Basil,  "  You  may  come  right  upstairs." 

She  preceded  him  into  the  study  on  the  left  of  the 
195 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

upper  hall — the  study  that  had  been  his,  and  was  now 
Kichard's.  He,  following,  closed  the  door,  advanced 
toward  her  with  lowering  brow  and  angry  eyes. 

"  It's  very  imprudent  to  close  the  door,"  said  she, 
calmly  returning  his  gaze.  "  Nanny  is  at  work  across  the 
hall." 

"  Did  you  break  your  promise  to  me  that  night  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  I'll  answer  no  question — not  even  from  you,  Basil — 
when  it's  in  that  tone." 

"  First  you  want  me  to  open  the  door,  so  that  I  can't 
speak  out,"  sneered  he.  "  Now  you  evade.  .  .  .  You  admit 
your  degradation.  I  knew  why  you  were  keeping  away 
from  me." 

"  That  was  not  my  reason,"  she  stammered,  with  low- 
ered head. 

"  You  lie !  You  are  doubly  false.  You  have  no  shame. 
Now  I  understand  why  you  said  those  bold  things — why 
you  acted  so  free — as  no  innocent  woman  could.  You — 
expert!  " 

Her  eyes  were  milky  like  a  tortured  sea;  her  face  be- 
came ghastly;  she  trembled  so  that  she  had  to  steady  her- 
self at  the  back  of  a  chair.  "  Basil !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  No, 
it's  not  you.  What  we've  suffered  since  he  came  has  driven 
you  mad.  It  has  almost  crazed  me." 

"  Answer  me !  "  he  commanded  fiercely.  "  Did  you  or 
did  you  not  break  your  promise  to  me  ?  " 

Suddenly  she  drew  herself  up,  and  with  the  sad  dig- 
nity of  guilt  that  has  been  expiated  she  said :  "  I  ask  you 
to  pity  me."  And  she  stood  there,  pale  and  haggard,  a 
statue  of  wretchedness. 

His  fury  could  not  hold  against  that  spectacle — and 
she,  the  proud,  asking  for  pity !  "  It's  I  who  should  be 

196 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ashamed/'  he  cried.  "  How  I  have  suffered !  What  a 
coward — what  a  cur  I  am !  " 

She  rushed  to  him.  "  Oh,  my  love !  What  we've  been 
suffering  has  only  made  you  dearer  to  me,  dearer  than  ever ! 
There's  no  bond  like  suffering." 

He  was  about  to  take  her  outstretched  hands  when 
suspicion  flamed  into  his  eyes  again.  "  How  easily  you 
twist  me  round  your  finger !  "  he  said  roughly.  "  Now, 
there's  your  making  me  move  down  to  the  shop.  Why 
should  you  want  to  get  me  out  of  the  house  when,  if  I 
were  here,  we  could  see  each  other  all  the  time  ?  " 

She  showed  no  resentment,  felt  none.  "  It's  natural 
you  should  suspect  me,"  said  she.  "  I'd  suspect  you  in 
the  same  circumstances.  I  see  now  how  absurd  it  was  to 
dream  of  happiness  founded  on  lies.  No  happiness  for  us 
— not  even  joy  now  and  then.  If  we  didn't  love  each 
other,  we  might  be  happy.  But  we  do  love,  and  misery 
is  all  we  can  expect.  I'll  tell  you  why  I  wanted  you  down 
there."  She  paused,  went  on  with  veiled  eyes  and  bright 
red  in  her  cheeks.  "  As  I  said  to  you,  even  dishonor  has 
its  honor.  I  didn't  want  us  meeting  here — with  my  boy — 
and  his — so  near." 

Basil  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  sink  down  under 
his  shame  and  self-contempt.  "  Forgive  me.  What  a  hound 
I  am !  "  he  muttered. 

"  As  for  my  free  actions  and  free  speech " 

"  Courtney !  "  he  begged,  seizing  her  hands.  "  Don't 
speak  of  that." 

"  I  must  explain,"  she  insisted  gently,  freeing  herself. 
"  I'll  always  explain  everything  to  you.  As  I  told  you, 
I  wanted  to  be  free  with  you,  perfectly  free.  So  I  said 
and  did  the  things  any  woman  who  loved  would  think  and 
feel,  but  most  women  hold  back  for  fear  of  spoiling  a 

197 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

lover's  ideal.  I  didn't  want  you  to  idealize  me,  but  to  love 
me  just  as  I  was,  just  for  what  I  am." 

"  And  I  do — I  do !  "  he  cried,  trying  to  draw  her  into 
his  arms. 

"  Yes,  you  do,  I  believe,"  answered  she,  insistently 
drawing  back.  "  I  know  you  truly  love,  and  you  know  I 
truly  love.  I  know  you  are  a  man  any  woman  would  be 
proud  to  have  love  her,  and  you  know  I'm  not  a  low  or 
a  bad  woman.  Yet,  see  how  it  turns  out.  .  .  .  Basil,  we 
must  give  it  up !  " 

"  Give  it  up !  "  He  was  bristling  with  suspicion  at 
once. 

"  You  must  go  away." 

He  laughed  scornfully.  "  That  is  your  kind,  consid- 
erate way  of  dismissing  me.  What  vanity!  I  shall  suffer 
no  more  than  you." 

"  Not  so  much,"  she  answered  sadly. 

"  I  shall  go  away  and  marry." 

"  You  can't  make  me  jealous  now,  Basil.  Not  after 
what  you've  been  to  me.  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  You 
must  go,  and  I'll  try  to  be  to  my  husband  all  a  wife  should 
be.  If  you'd  been  through  what  I've  been  through — that 
night  and  since — you'd  understand.  Basil,  do  you  remem- 
ber how  I  lied,  how  I  laughed  and  cheated — like  an  '  ex- 
pert,' as  you  say.  Oh,  you  must  have  despised  me!  If 
you  hr.d  done  what  I  did,  had  done  it  as  fluently,  I'd  have 
loathed  you." 

"And  what  about  me?  Didn't  I  stand  there,  a  con- 
temptible coward,  and  let  him  take  you  away  ?  " 

"  What  else  could  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Shown  myself  a  man !  " 

"  And  ruined  me — and  my  child  ?  Oh,  no,  dear.  You 
love  me  too  well  for  that."  She  startled,  listened.  "  He's 

198 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

coming/'  she  warned,,  flying  to  the  door.  She  opened  it 
softly  to  its  full  width,  advanced  composedly  into  the  hall, 
saying  in  her  usual  voice,  "  Then  Jimmie'll  take  your  things 
down  about  four  o'clock." 

Richard,  on  his  way  up,  had  reached  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  "  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Here  you  are !  I  asked 
Winchie  where  you  were,  and  he  said  he  didn't  know.  So 
I've  been  hunting  all  over  the  place  for  you.  I  want  you 
to  take  a  walk  with  me." 

"  Certainly,"  said  she  tranquilly.  "  I'm  talking  busi- 
ness with  Basil.  Go  down  and  help  Winchie  finish  his 
house,  and  we'll  take  him  along.  I'll  come  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 

"  All  right !  "  said  Dick  cheerfully.  He  shouted  out, 
"  Hey,  Gallatin,  how's  your  grouch  ?  "  and  descended  the 
stairs,  laughing  as  he  went. 

As  she  reentered  the  sitting  room,  she  said,  with  the 
quietness  of  the  emotions  that  are  too  deep  and  too  ter- 
rible for  tumult,  "  Am  I  not  '  expert '  ?  How  long  do  you 
think  we  could  keep  this  sort  of  thing  up  without  becom- 
ing—  I  tell  you,  Basil,  looking  within  myself  as  I've  lain 
in  the  dark,  I've  realized  it  takes  decent  people — people 
with  nerves  and  imaginations  and  sense  of  right  and  wrong 
— to  become  frightful,  if  they  once  get  on  the  down  grade. 
Did  you  hear  what  he  said  about  Winchie?  " 

"  Yes,"  muttered  Basil.  He  was  at  the  desk,  his  elbows 
on  it,  his  hands  supporting  his  head. 

"  Winchie  knew  where  I  was.  Why  did  he  lie  to  his 
father  ?  Already  a  liar !  " 

"  I  must  go.  You  are  right —  But,  Courtney — you 
must  get  a  divorce." 

"  I've  thought  of  that.  On  what  ground?  And  how- 
can  I  leave  him  alone — take  Winchie  away  from  him?  " 

199 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  You  must  get  a  divorce." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  assented  she.  "  But  I  will  not  lie  to 
do  it.  I'm  done  with  lies.  I'll  tell  him." 

"  No — let's  go  to  him  together."  Basil's  face  lighted 
up,  his  manner  became  enthusiastic.  He  thought  he  saw  a 
way  to  redeem  his  manhood  put  in  pawn  for  this  sin  so 
dear  yet  so  detestable.  "  Together !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He 
is  generous  and  broadminded." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Men  are  not  generous  and 
broadminded  where  women  are  concerned — the  women  they 
look  on  as  theirs." 

He  colored  and  glanced  guiltily  at  her.  But  it  was 
plain  that  she  had  not  in  mind  his  own  exhibition  of  the 
male  attitude  toward  the  female.  His  memory  of  it  helped 
him  to  appreciate  the  folly  of  his  proposal.  But  he  would 
not  give  in  at  once.  "  I'd  not  suggest  it,  if  he  really  loved 
you.  But " 

"  If  he  really  loved  me,  he'd  have  felt  the  truth  long 
ago.  If  he  really  loved  me,  he'd  wish  me  to  be  happy — 
would  give  me  up.  But  then — if  he  had  really  loved  me, 
none  of  this  would  ever  have  happened.  No,  Basil,  it's  be- 
cause he  doesn't  love  me,  because  it's  only  passion  that  takes 
and  gives  nothing,  that  uses  and  doesn't  think  or  care  about 
the  feelings  of  its  creature " 

Basil,  horror-stricken  by  this  bald  candor,  ashamed  for 
her,  stopped  her.  "  Let's  not  talk  about  it,"  he  pleaded. 
"  As  for  the  divorce,  I  leave  it  to  you.  You  know  best  how 
to  deal  with  him." 

His  manner  and  its  cause  had  not  escaped  her,  with 
nerves  keyed  up  to  the  snapping  point.  Once  again  he  had 
raised  in  her  heart  the  dread  lest  their  love  would  not  mean 
the  perfect  frankness,  the  perfect  oneness  of  which  she  had 
dreamed.  Did  a  man  always  demand  and  compel  conceal- 

200 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ment  and  pretense  in  the  woman?  But  she  thrust  out  the 
doubt.  "  I'll  do  what  seems  best/'  she  said  to  him,  avoid- 
ing his  eyes  and  speaking  with  constraint.  "  I  don't  know 
Richard  very  well.  You  see,  we  never  got  acquainted. 
He's  like  most  men.  They  don't  want  the  woman,  but 
only  the  outside.  .  .  .  He's  so  wrapped  up  in  his  work 
that  I  think  I  can  free  myself." 

He  took  her  hands,  gazed  into  her  eyes.  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  "  you  do  love  me.  You  feel  that  we  belong  to  each 
other,  just  as  I  do.  So  when  I'm  away  I'll  know  you  are 
coming — as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  As  soon  as  I  can,"  she  replied.  And  the  expression 
of  her  eyes,  meeting  his  steadfastly,  and  the  deep  notes 
in  her  sweet  voice  thrilled  him  with  a  new  sense  of  her 
love  and  of  her  constancy.  This  woman  had  not  given  in 
whim;  she  would  not  change  in  whim. 

"  I  will  go — to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  The  sooner  I  go, 
the  sooner  I  shall  have  you.  Will  you  come  to-night  to 
say  good-by?  " 

"  Don't  ask  it,  dear.  I  mustn't  ever  again — until  I'm 
free." 

"  In  the  summer  house,  then.  For  a  few  minutes.  We 
can't  part  like  this." 

"  Yes,  I'll  come." 

Along  the  hall  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs  sounded 
Richard's  imperious,  impatient  voice.  "  I  say,  Courtney ! 
Do  hurry !  " 

"  I  can't  go  for  a  walk  with  him  now,"  she  said,  half  to 
herself.  "  I'll  make  some  excuse."  She  looked  at  Basil,  he 
at  her.  In  their  eyes  was  a  sadness  beyond  words  and  tears. 
And  what  would  it  be  when  he  was  really  gone?  "  I  mustn't 
linger  here — I  mustn't !  "  she  cried.  "  And  don't  come  near 
me  when  he's  around.  I  can't  control  myself." 

201 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

They  clung  together  for  an  instant,  then  she  fled. 

She  made  vague  household  matters  her  excuse  for  not 
taking  the  walk.  She  did  not  see  Richard  alone  until  late 
that  afternoon.  She  was  in  her  and  Winchie's  big  bath- 
room, which  she  also  used  as  a  dressing  room.  As  she  sat 
at  the  dressing  table  there,  in  petticoat  and  corset  cover, 
doing  her  finger  nails,  he  walked  in.  "  May  I  come?  " 
said  he,  already  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

She  glanced  at  him,  or,  rather,  in  his  direction,  by  \*-ay 
of  the  mirror  and  went  on  with  her  polishing.  But  she  was 
not  resentful  of  the  scant  courtesy  of  this  intrusion.  In  the 
beginning  of  their  married  life  she,  through  love,  had 
confirmed  him  in  his  life-long  habit  of  considering  only 
himself  and  of  expecting  himself  to  be  considered  first. 
Now,  indifference  was  making  her  as  compliant  as  love 
had  made  her.  And  it  was  just  as  well.  An  attempt  to 
assert  herself  would  have  seemed  to  him  a  revolt  which 
pride  and  duty  made  it  imperative  for  him  to  put  down. 
The  man  a  woman  has  spoiled  through  love,  or  the  woman 
a  man  has  spoiled,  must  be  born  again  to  be  got  back  within 
bounds. 

"  You  don't  ask  how  I  happen  to  be  home  so  early — 
nearly  an  hour  before  supper,"  said  he. 

"  It  is  early,"  replied  she  absently. 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  not  to  kill  myself  with  work 
and  no  exercise,  and  to  give  more  time  to  my  family.  I 
had  a  chance  to  look  at  myself — at  my  way  of  life — from 
the  outside  while  I  was  in  the  East.  And  I'm  going  to 
try  to  live  a  more  human  life,  though  it'll  not  be  easy  to 
work  less,  when  Gallatin's  leaving  me." 

Until  he  spoke  Gallatin's  name  she  had  not  heard  a 
word.  We  are  all  surrounded  at  all  times  in  our  custom- 
ary haunts  by  a  multitude  of  unchanging  objects,  ani- 

202 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

mate  and  inanimate.  We  become  practically  unconscious 
of  them  so  long  as  they  maintain  the  same  relative  posi- 
tion toward  us.  We  notice  only  changes,  only  those  changes 
that  are  radical.  Richard  had  long  been  to  Courtney  a 
mere  familiar  part  of  her  environment — as  she  of  his.  She 
could  look  at  him  without  seeing  him,  could  answer  him 
without  having  really  heard.  She  could  submit  to  his  ca- 
resses without  any  sense  of  them.  This  unconsciousness 
was  not  deliberate;  it  was  far  deeper,  it  was  habitual.  At 
Gallatin's  name,  however,  she  began  to  listen. 

"  Yes,  he's  going,"  said  Richard. 

She  inspected  the  nail  of  her  right  little  finger.  "  Is 
he?  "  she  asked,  head  on  one  side  critically  and  emery  slip 
poised. 

"  For  good.  And  I'm  not  sorry.  He's  of  less  and  less 
use  to  me  at  the  laboratory.  His  mind  isn't  on  it."  There 
Richard  laughed. 

"  I  thought  you  felt  you  couldn't  get  on  without  him," 
said  she,  searching  in  a  box  for  an  orange-wood  stick. 

"  That  was  some  time  ago.  I  suppose  you're  glad  he's 
going." 

"Why?" 

"  I  know  you  don't  like  him.  You've  been  very  good 
about  it,  and  I  appreciate  your  being  polite  to  him.  But 
I  can  see  that  you  dislike  him." 

She  glanced  in  the  mirror,  arranged  a  stray  of  hair. 
"  You  are  mistaken." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  You've  got  the  good  woman's  instinct 
to  please  her  husband,  and  you  think  you've  conquered 
your  dislike.  But  you  haven't." 

"  How  you  understand  women,"  said  she  placidly. 
"  But  then  there  isn't  much  to  understand  about  a  woman 
—a  good  woman." 

203 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Oh,  you  underestimate  yourself,"  said  he  generously. 
"  You're  a  very  clever  little  lady — in  your  own  charming 
feminine  way.  I  often  admire  it." 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  about  her  lips ;  but  she  seemed 
more  intent  upon  her  nails  than  upon  his  half-absent  com- 
pliment. 

"  To  confess  the  honest  truth,"  he  went  on,  "  I've  never 
liked  Gallatin  myself.  I  know  he's  a  good  sort —  But — 
Well,  he  has  no  depth.  He  has  a  stock  of  education  and 
a  stock  of  manners,  just  as  he  has  a  stock  of  clothes.  But 
it's  all  of  some  one  else's  make;  nothing  of  his  own,  except 
a  pleasant,  amiable  disposition.  And  he  lacks  purpose. 
However,  all  these  things — especially  lack  of  purpose — 
iwould  only  recommend  him  to  a  woman.  Women  are  so 
frivolously  'constituted  that  purpose  is  a  bore  to  them." 

"  Any  more  of  a  bore  than  it  is  to  most  men  ?  "  inquired 
Courtney. 

Vaughan  laughed  acknowledgment.  "  Anyhow,  I 
couldn't  warm  up  to  him.  He's  going,  but  he  keeps  his 
partnership — at  least,  for  the  present." 

"  Has  he  gone  ?  " 

"Of  course  not!  He'd  hardly  be  so  rude  as  not  to 
say  good-by  to  you.  Do  you  know  why  I  think  he's 
going?  " 

"  Didn't  he  tell  you?  " 

"  He  says  a  business  letter  came  at  noon  to-day.  And 
no  doubt  it  had  something  to  do  with  it.  But  mere  busi- 
ness would  hardly  take  him  off  in  such  a  rush.  At  first  I 
thought  it  was  a  hurry  call  from  some  idle  female  for  him 
to  come  and  amuse  her.  All  bachelors  get  them,  and  Gal- 
latin's  just  the  sort  of  gander  to  respond.  But  on  second 
thought  I  suspected  he's  flying  because  he's  in  love  with 
you." 

204 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Courtney,  conscious  that  his  eyes  were  on  her  face, 
smiled. 

"  It's  natural  that  you,  being  a  good  woman,  shouldn't 
notice  it." 

"  Women  sometimes  think  a  man's  in  love  with  them 
when  he  isn't,"  said  she.  "  But  the  woman  never  lived — 
good,  bad,  or  both — who  didn't  know  when  a  man  was  in 
love  with  her." 

"  Well,  I  may  be  mistaken.  But  he  had  a  queer  way 
of  acting.  Why,  only  this  morning  he  was  lowering  at  me 
like  a  demon."  Vaughan  laughed.  "  Poor  Gallatin.  But 
he'll  pull  through  all  right." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Courtney. 

"  Sometimes — now  and  then — a  man  or  woman  in  love, 
and  staying  in  some  dull  place,  where  there's  nothing  to  do 
but  brood,  does  go  under,  with  love  one  among  the  con- 
tributing causes,"  pursued  Richard.  "  But  not  a  city  per- 
son. And  Gallatin's  going  to  New  York."  Something  in 
her  expression  made  him  hasten  to  say:  "  Now,  please  don't 
get  angry.  I  apologize.  I  admit  my  joking  was  somewhat 
coarse.  Naturally  it  grated  qn  your  modesty.  Really,  I 
was  only  joking.  I  know  he's  going  for  business  reasons. 
Then,  too,  he  has  a  grouch  for  me  because  of  the  fearful 
punch  I  gave  him.  No,  he — any  man  who  has  led  a  free 
life  as  long  as  he  has — could  no  more  appreciate  a  good 
woman — a  woman  like  you  than — than — a  drunkard  could 
appreciate  a  glass  of  pure,  clear,  sparkling  spring  water." 

Courtney  gathered  her  manicure  set  together,  swept  it 
noisily  into  the  drawer.  "  Go  out,  and  let  me  finish  dress- 
ing," said  she  in  a  low  voice  between  her  set  teeth. 

And  he  departed,  saying:  "What  a  relief  it'll  be  to 
have  Gallatin  off  the  place — to  have  it  to  ourselves  again." 

She  sat  motionless  with  her  eyes  down.  Presently  she 
14  205 


lifted  them,  saw  her  reflection  in  the  mirror.  She  gazed 
in  horror.  She  had  relaxed  the  instant  he  left  her  alone, 
and  now  all  her  anguish  was  in  her  features.  "  A  little 
more  of  this/'  said  she,  "  and  I'd  be  an  old  woman."  She 
passed  her  hands  over  her  face,  looked  into  her  eyes. 
"  Spring  water  "  flashed  to  her  mind.  Her  eyes  wavered 
and  sank;  her  skin  burned.  But  her  hungry  heart  clam- 
ored defiantly. 

When  she  reached  the  dining  room  her  husband  and 
Basil  and  Winchie  were  already  at  the  supper  table.  As 
they  rose,  Basil  did  not  lift  his  eyes;  her  husband  gave 
her  a  glance  of  greeting.  But  Richard,  the  married  man 
of  five  years,  did  not  really  see  her  face  as  it  then  was, 
but  the  face  that  had  long  been  fixed  in  his  mind  as  hers. 
To  have  seen  her  as  she  was,  he  would  have  had  to  be 
startled  out  of  matrimonial  myopia  by  some  shock.  There 
was  no  arresting  change  flaunted  in  Courtney's  features; 
youth  has  no  wrinkles  and  hollows  in  which  the  shadows 
of  emotion  can  gather  thick  and  linger.  She  simply  looked 
tired  and  not  well.  Her  eyes  were  veiled;  but  in  her  skin 
there  was  a  lack  of  the  ruddy  tinge  beneath  the  bronze, 
and  in  her  hair,  which  was  with  her  an  unfailing  index  to 
health  or  to  spirits,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  the  lifeless- 
ness  that  is  in  the  last  wan  autumn  leaves  the  dreary  winds 
of  November  spurn.  In  tones  that  seemed  to  them  more 
unnatural  than  they  were,  she  and  Basil  exchanged  the 
commonplaces  necessary  on  such  an  occasion.  Winchie 
watched  her  sympathetically.  Presently  he  dropped  down 
from  his  chair,  came  round  to  her.  He  put  his  arm  about 
her  neck,  drew  her  head  toward  him,  kissed  her  tenderly, 
and  whispered,  "  Mamma  is  sick." 

She  kissed  him,  whispered :  "  Yes,  dear,  but  you  mustn't 
say  anything." 

206 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Winchie  went  back  to  his  place.  The  conversation  was 
wholly  between  the  two  men,  the  subject  being,  of  course, 
chemistry.  After  supper  Courtney  pleaded  a  headache  and, 
having  uttered  the  formulas  prescribed  for  the  parting  and 
having  heard  from  him  the  formulas  embodying  his  part 
in  such  an  exchange,  withdrew.  Instead  of  being  agitated, 
she  was  in  truth  as  calm  as  she  seemed  outwardly — and 
numb.  She  saw  Winchie  to  bed,  occupied  herself  mechan- 
ically for  an  hour,  then  sat  at  one  of  the  windows  of  her 
front  room  looking  out  toward  the  lake.  When  she  thought 
at  all,  it  was  of  trifles;  most  of  the  time,  during  those  two 
hours  of  waiting,  she  did  not  think,  but  listened  to  the 
beating  of  her  blood  as  it  made  the  ringing  in  the  ears  that 
climaxes  the  oppression  of  an  intense  silence. 

At  length  Richard  came  up.  He  glanced  in  at  her. 
"How's  the  headache?"  he  inquired,  laying  a  caressing 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

She  moved ;  his  hand  fell  away.  "  No  better,"  replied 
she.  "  Good  night." 

"  You'll  feel  all  right  in  the  morning,"  he  said.  He 
kissed  her  crown  of  hair  and  departed  toward  his  own 
rooms — those  that  had  been  Basil's. 

She  heard  him  stirring  about,  first  in  his  study  just 
across  the  hall,  then  in  his  bedroom.  Half  an  hour,  and  she 
went  on  the  balcony,  to  the  corner  of  the  house,  to  see  if 
j  his  lights  still  showed.  All  his  windows  were  dark.  She 
returned,  listened  at  his  door.  No  sound.  She  stole  down 
the  stairs,  unlatched  the  lake-front  door,  went  out.  She 
strolled  across  the  lawn,  in  full  view — for  the  moon  was 
rising.  At  the  edge  of  the  shadows  made  by  the  bushes 
round  the  summer  house,  she  halted. 

"  Basil !  "  she  called  softly. 

He  came  from  the  summer  house  and  stood  before  her. 
207 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  It's  safer  to  stay  here,"  she  said.  "  We  can  watch  the 
house." 

He  made  no  protest.  He  took  her  hands,  drew  her  to 
his  breast.  Never  before  had  he  touched  her  without  feel- 
ing the  glow  and  surge  of  passion;  now  he  had  no  sense 
of  her  physical  beauty,  of  her  physical  charm,  only  sense 
of  the  being  he  loved. 

"  Forgive  me  the  horrible  things  I  said,  Courtney,"  he 
murmured.  "  It  wasn't  I  that  was  speaking.  It  was  the 
beginnings  of  what  I  was  fast  becoming." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  answered.     "  Kiss  me,  dear." 

Their  lips  met  in  a  caress  of  tenderness.  When  she 
spoke  again  she  said:  "Dear  love,  I  never  felt  before  how 
much  you  care." 

"  I  never  realized  before.  I'm  beginning  to  realize. 
You  won't  be  long  about  arranging  the  divorce?  " 

"  You  must  not  get  impatient — or  misunderstand — if 
I'm  longer  than  you  expect." 

"  I'll  not  misunderstand." 

"  There's  Winchie,  you  know.     I  must  have  Winchie." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  You'll  accomplish  it,"  he  said  confi- 
dently. "  Be  careful  not  to  tell  him  too  much.  Even  if 
he  doesn't  really  love  you,  there's  his  vanity.  And  that's 
often  stronger  in  a  man  than  anything  else." 

"  I'll  not  forget  what's  at  stake.  .  .  .  He  suspects  that 
you  love  me." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,  and  this  evening  I  told  him  I  was 
engaged.  He  looked  astounded." 

"  I  can  tell  him  that  I  love  you,  and  he  will  think — - 
No — no — what  am  I  saying?  Lies,  always  lies!  .  .  .  I'll 
do  the  best  I  can,  Basil." 

"  I  know  you  will." 

"You  see  now  I  was  right  in  feeling  you  must  go?" 
208 


"  I  felt  it,  Courtney,  the  moment  we  three  stood  to- 
gether there  in  my  room — though  I  wouldn't  admit  it  to 
myself.  If  I  stayed,  there'd  be  a  crime,  or  a  scandal 
that'd  spatter  you  with  mud  and  brand  you  with  shame. 
It  simply  could  not  be  otherwise." 

"  I  haven't  told  you  the  real  deep-down  reason  why 
I  felt  you  must  go." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Your  real  reason  was  the  same  as 
mine." 

"  Because  it  was  all  so  vulgar  and — and  cheap?  " 

"  Cheap — that's  it !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Cheap  !  " 

"  I  could  stand  it,"  she  went  on,  "  to  commit  and  to 
have  you  commit,  big,  bold  sins,  scarlet  and  black.  I  might 
even  glory  in  it.  I  wasn't  a  bit  ashamed  that  first  night. 
I  think  I  even  got  a  sort  of  joy  out  of  defying  all  I'd 
been  brought  up  to  believe  was  moral  and  right  and  lady- 
like. But —  Not  when  we  stood  there,  like  two  caught 
sneak  thieves." 

"  That  was  it,  Courtney,"  eagerly  assented  he.  And 
he  went  on,  in  a  tone  in  which  a  less  love-blinded  woman 
might  have  detected  an  accent  of  repentance  for  masculine 
thoughts  of  disrespect:  "No  wonder  I  love  you!  How 
happy  we  shall  be,  when  you're  free.  How  good  and  pure 
you  are — and  innocent.  It  needn't  be  long — in  this  State — 
need  it?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  she  laughed.  "  Being  a  judge's  daugh- 
ter, I  ought  to  know.  But  I  don't." 

"  Look  there !  "  he  exclaimed,  gazing  toward  the  house. 

She  turned,  saw  a  figure  at  the  east  corner  of  the  house, 
apparently  looking  toward  where  they  were  standing.  The 
figure  moved.  "  Nanny,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "  I 
must  go." 

He  caught  her  to  his  breast;  for  an  instant  they  clung 
209 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

together,  then  with  a  last  lingering  handclasp,  she  left  him, 
to  emerge  from  the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees  and  stroll 
back  across  the  lawn.  Presently  she  pretended  to  catch 
sight  of  Nanny,  halted,  changed  her  course,  went  toward 
her.  "  What  is  it,  Nanny  ?  "  she  asked. 

Nanny  turned  without  a  word,  started  to  go  back  toward 
her  kitchen. 

"  Nanny !  "  said  she  sharply. 

The  old  woman  stopped,  turned. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  not  answering  me  when  I  speak 
to  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  as  you  expected  an  answer,"  replied 
Nanny,  sullen  and  cowed,  but  insolent  underneath. 

"  I  asked  you  what  you  were  doing  here?  " 

The  two  women  looked  straight  into  each  other's  eyes. 
"  I  just  came  out  to  get  a  breath  of  air — like  you,"  said 
Nanny.  "  I  don't  see  as  there's  any  harm  in  that." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Courtney.  And  she  resumed  her 
stroll,  back  and  forth  across  the  lawn  for  three  quarters 
of  an  hour. 

She  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast.  About  nine  o'clock 
Richard,  at  the  Smoke  House,  called  her  on  the  telephone. 
"  Gallatin  cleared  out  on  the  midnight  express,"  said  he. 
"  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"  He  left  a  note  saying  good-by  and  explaining  that 
he  found  he  could  make  better  time." 

"Well?" 

"  Don't  you  think  it  a  little  queer  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Anyhow,  he's  gone.  I  feel  better  already.  Don't 
you  ?  " 

210 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  can't  say  I  do." 

"Well — I'll  see' you  at  dinner." 

"  Yes — good-by." 

She  returned  to  her  sitting  room,  all  in  a  glow.  Basil 
had  gone  because  he,  sensitive  and  honorable,  wished  to 
spare  himself  the  hypocrisy  of  a  farewell  handshake  with 
Richard — "  and  to  end  the  suspense/'  she  added.  "  The 
suspense !  "  And  she  struck  her  hands  against  her  throb- 
ing  temples. 

A  few  days  and  there  came  from  New  York  a  crate  of 
orchids,  with  only  his  card.  "  That's  what  I  call  decent 
and  very  handsome,"  declared  Vaughan,  roused  to  enthu- 
siasm by  this  attention.  "  I  must  say  I  rather  miss  Basil, 
now  that  he's  really  gone.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"   said  Courtney. 

"  Which  means  no.  Don't  even  these  orchids  soften  your 
heart?  Think  how  he  used  to  let  you  work  him.  Oh, 
women !  women !  Orchids  cost  a  lot  of  money,  don't  they?  " 

"  Some  kinds." 

"  When  you  write  thanking  him,  do  put  cordiality  and 
friendliness  into  the  note." 

"  Very  well." 

She  sent  eighteen  closely  written  pages — a  line  about 
the  orchids,  the  rest  an  outpouring  of  love  and  longing — 
a  sad  letter,  yet  hopeful — and  ending  with  the  injunction 
that  it  be  left  unanswered.  "  You  must  not  write  until  you 
hear  from  me,"  she  said.  "  And  that  will  be  soon — soon, 
my  love,  my  Basil !  " 

Next  day  Dick  asked,  "  Have  you  thanked  Basil  for 
those  flowers  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  wish  you  had  let  me  see  the  letter.     I'll  bet  you 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

made  it  all  frost.    You  don't  know  how  cold  you  are,  Court- 
ney.    Sometimes  you  chill  even  me,  well  as  I  know  you. 
...  I  guess  I'll  write  Basil  a  note,  too — and  let  him  see 
that  we  did  appreciate  his   thoughtfulness." 
"  As  you  please." 


XIV 

FIVE  days  since  the  letter  to  Basil,  a  fortnight  since 
he  went,  and  the  first  move  toward  freedom  not  yet  made. 

Each  day  added  its  strength  of  loneliness  and  longing 
to  the  resolve  that  became  the  guiding  purpose  of  her  life 
when  she  sent  him  away.  But  she  must  restrain  her  eager- 
ness, must  compel  herself  to  wait  upon  opportunity — upon 
the  favorable  gust  of  event  or  emotion.  To  be  tactless  and 
abrupt  would  mean  defeat ;  for,  hard  though  it  was  to  real- 
ize, she  must  keep  ever  in  mind  that  Richard  had  legal 
right  over  Winchie.  Moral  right  she  denied  not  only  be- 
cause he  was  as  much  a  stranger  to  Winchie  as  to  herself, 
but  chiefly  because  a  child  belonged  to  its  mother.  Indeed, 
if  she  had  not  been  brought  up  in  a  legal  family  it  would 
not  have  occurred  to  her  that  in  any  circumstances  she 
need  disturb  herself  about  having  Winchie.  There  was 
nothing  of  pose  or  effusiveness  about  her  love  for  him; 
it  was  that  deep  and  utter  love  which  is  not  conscious  of 
itself,  but  simply  is.  She  and  the  boy  were  as  much  part 
of  each  other  as  when  his  being  was  still  hidden  within 
hers.  She  knew  that  she  and  Winchie  were  one;  but  she 
also  knew  the  man-made  law.  So  in  seeking  her  freedom 
she  must  move  carefully.  Sometimes  she  felt  she  must  be 
dreaming;  it  simply  could  not  be  possible  that  in  arrang- 
ing her  life  she  must  take  into  account  a  person  so  utterly 
alien  and  apart  as  this  nominal  husband  of  hers. 

She  had  rarely  seen  him  since  Basil  left.  He  was  ex- 
ercising— walking  or  rowing  on  the  lake — very  early  in 
the  mornings.  But  he  spent  the  whole  day  at  his  work. 

213 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

When  he  occasionally  came  to  dinner  or  supper,  he  was 
deep  in  his  problems,  was  as  unconscious  of  his  wife  and 
child  as  his  child  was  of  him.  Courtney  was  no  longer 
unconscious  of  him.  As  before,  she  did  not  see  him  when 
she  looked  at  him,  did  not  listen  when  he  talked,  answered, 
if  answer  was  necessary,  by  a  sort  of  reflex  mental  action 
that  never  involved  her  real  mind.  But  she  had  the  sense 
of  his  presence — as  keen  when  he  was  out  of  sight  as 
when  he  sat  working  or  in  a  deep  abstraction  before  her 
eyes.  And  she  was  constantly  revolving  how  to  begin  the 
revolt — for  she  saw  more  and  more  clearly  that  it  would 
be  regarded  by  him  as  a  revolt  against  womanliness,  against 
duty,  against  honor,  against  decency,  would  burst  upon  him 
like  thunder  from  clear  sky,  no  matter  how  adroitly  she 
might  begin.  Until  then  his  ideas  of  woman  had  im- 
pressed her  only  in  a  vague,  general  way.  She  had 
avoided  thinking  them  out  or  hearing  them  from  his  own 
lips  because  she  knew  definite  knowledge  would  only  make 
the  struggle  to  be  a  wife  to  him  as  far  as  she  might  the 
more  painful,  the  more  humiliating.  But  now,  piece  by 
piece,  his  conception  of  womanhood  and  woman's  place 
fitted  itself  together  in  her  mind  from  stray  sentences 
dropped  by  him  from  time  to  time  in  their  five  years. 
Every  day  she  recalled  some  forgotten  or  ignored  remark 
that  added  to  the  completeness  of  the  record — and  to  its 
discouragement.  As  to  the  position  of  woman  in  the  scheme 
of  things,  he  was  untouched  of  any  modern  idea.  He  was 
just  where  his  grandfather  had  been;  and  Colonel  Achilles 
Vaughan  had  been  where  the  whole  world  had  been  since 
the  Oriental  contempt  for  women  reconquered  Europe  under 
the  banner  of  the  Cross. 

In  one  of  the  last  warm  days   she  half  sat,  half  lay 
in  the  hammock  on  the  lake-front  veranda,  apparently  idle, 

214. 


really  with  a  brain  as  industrious  as  a  beehive.  Gradually, 
however,  the  beauty  of  the  scene — summer  dying  like  a 
lovely  woman  whose  mortal  disease  only  enhances  loveli- 
ness— stole  in  upon  her  and  won  her  for  the  moment.  She 
looked  at  the  wonderful  colors  far  and  near,  she  drank 
in  the  last  potent  draughts  of  summer's  perfume.  And  sud- 
denly she  thought,  "  I  would  be  divorcing  all  this,  too !  " 
These  gardens  that  she  had  created;  the  house  that  she  had 
made  over.  Why,  these  things  were  part  of  her  very  soul. 
The  same  life  throbbed  in  them  that  throbbed  in  her  boy 
and  in  herself — her  own  life  blood !  The  place  was  in 
Richard  Vaughan's  name  just  as  she  herself  was,  just  as 
Winchie  was.  But  it  was  not  his;  it — all  that  made  it 
individual — was  hers! 

Most  of  us  pass  through  the  world,  leaving  little  more 
trace  of  our  individuality  than  a  traveler  leaves  in  a  hotel 
room.  But  Courtney  had  the  creative  instinct  powerfully  de- 
veloped. She  even  never  dressed  in  exactly  the  same  way, 
no  matter  how  simple  her  costume  or  how  often  she  wore 
it;  and  her  clothes  were  so  individual  that  Richard  the 
absent  spoke  of  hats  and  dresses  she  had  worn  several  years 
back.  And  this  place — it  was  like  the  picture  the  artist 
keeps  by  him  and  touches  and  retouches.  Also,  she  now 
realized  for  the  first  time  how  profoundly  domestic  she  was 
by  nature.  Not  by  chance  had  she  avoided  the  life  of  the 
gadabout  and  meddler  which  is  chosen  by  so  many  women 
when  they  find  themselves  mismated,  and  so,  without  hope 
of  the  normal  life.  She  had  always  classed  herself  with 
the  flyabout  sort  of  women  rather  than  with  the  domestic 
sort;  she  had  fallen  into  the  common  error  of  taking  as 
representative  of  the  domestic  type  those  dreary  rotters 
who  sit  at  home  inert  and  slovenly  simply  because  it  re- 
quires less  effort  to  stay  at  home  than  to  dress  and  issue 

215 


forth.  Now  she  saw  that  she  was  domestic,  was  a  home- 
maker  and  a  home-lover;  and  she  understood  a  deeper 
depth  of  her  unhappiness — the  unhappiness  that  comes 
from  being  cheated  out  of  one's  dearest  desires ;  for  how 
incomplete  must  be  any  home  without  love  of  husband  and 
wife.  And  she  understood  why,  as  she  made  her  surround- 
ings more  and  more  like  her  dreams,  her  longing  for  love 
had  grown  apace ;  she  was  like  the  bird  that  builds  its  nest, 
and  has  nothing  to  put  in  it. 

She  had  built  this  nest;  now  she  must  abandon  it. 
•Heavier  and  heavier  grew  her  heart,  as  she  thought  of 
the  years  of  thought  and  toil  she  had  invested,  as  she  looked 
about  at  the  results.  She  rebuked  herself  almost  fiercely — 
in  terror  of  the  weakness  to  which  these  lamentings  might 
tempt  her;  in  shame  at  the  disloyalty  to  Basil.  "  I'm 
utterly  selfish,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I'm  shrinking  from 
making  gftiy  sacrifice  at  all."  There  she  stopped  short  in 
a  kind  of  terror.  "  Sacrifice  " — what  a  strange  word  to  use 
— what  an  ominous  word — and  how  clearly  it  warned  her 
that  delay  was  eating  out  courage,  was  strengthening  her 
natural  woman's  inertia.  Sacrifice!  She  began  to  pic- 
ture what  the  new  life  would  be — perfect  sympathy,  com- 
panionship ever  closer  and  closer,  how  she  would  grow 
and  expand,  how  Winchie  would  thrive  in  an  atmosphere 
of  ideal  love — and  Basil  and  she  would  together  create  a 
place,  a  home  which  would  be  incomparably  lovelier  than 
this.  ..."  Yes,  I  must  establish  my  life  on  its  perma- 
nent basis."  Her  life  must  be  straightened  out,  must  be 
settled  right.  Until  it  was  based  right,  nothing  could  be 
right;  mind  and  heart  would  always  be  uneasy,  and  from 
time  to  time  in  a  turmoil.  "  Nothing  is  settled,"  her  father 
often  used  to  quote,  "  until  it's  settled  right."  He  was 
thinking  of  large  affairs,  but  the  thing  was  just  as  true 


of  the  affairs  of  private  life.  Her  and  Richard's  relations, 
her  and  Basil's  relations,  and  therefore  her  and  Winehie's 
relations,  were  awry,  all  awry.  There  had  been  successive 
adjustments;  they  had  one  after  the  other  fallen  to  pieces 
— because  "  nothing  is  settled  until  it's  settled  right." 

That  very  evening,  it  so  happened,  for  the  first  time 
Richard  made  a  remark  that  gave  her  an  opening.  "  Why 
don't  you  stay  down  in  the  evenings  ?  "  said  he.  "  It 
doesn't  disturb  me  for  you  to  play  and  sing  in  the  sitting 
room  when  I'm  in  the  library." 

"  The  last  few  times  I  did  it,"  replied  she,  "  you  slipped 
away  to  the  shop." 

He  reddened,  laughed  guiltily.  "Did  I ?  Well — per- 
haps in  certain  moods " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  complaining,"  she  assured  him.  "  I've 
got  used  to  our  leading  separate  lives — long  ago.  ...  I 
like  it  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  Separate  lives,"  said  he  reflectively.  "  It's  true,  we 
don't  see  much  of  each  other.  Husbands  and  wives  rarely 
do,  when  the  man  amounts  to  anything,  or  is  trying  to 
amount  to  anything." 

"  Unless  they  work  together." 

"  And  that's  impossible  where  people  are  of  our  sta- 
tion." 

Our  station !  Her  lip  curled  and  her  heart  protested. 
How  could  a  human  being  with  a  human  heart  talk  of  a 
station  too  high  for  love — love  that  was  the  soul  of  life. 

"  Also,"  continued  he,  reflective  and  absent,  "  it's  out 
of  the  question  where  the  husband  is  pursuing  an  intellec- 
tual occupation."  Even  had  he  not  been  merely  thinking 
aloud,  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  any 
slur  in  a  statement  of  an  elementary  axiom  as  to  the  dif- 
ferent spheres  of  the  two  sexes.  "  And/'  he  went  on, 

217 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  it's  unnecessary  to  married  happiness,   as  we've  proved. 
You  had  an  idea  once — do  you  remember? — " 

"  Yes — I  remember." 

"  If  I'd  let  you  have  your  foolish,  impulsive,  romantic 
way,  and  you'd  been  at  my  elbow  down  at  the  shop,  where 
I  get  irritable  and  cranky — we'd  not  have  made  our  pres- 
ent record — would  we?  " 

She  shivered.     "  No,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  Five  years  with  hardly  a  misunderstanding,  and  not 
one  quarrel." 

His  words,  his  manner — complacent,  content — calmly 
possessive — dried  up  her  courage  and  her  hope.  But  she 
held  to  her  purpose.  She  said,  "  We're  not  interested 
enough  in  each  other  to  quarrel." 

He  laughed,  assuming  she  was  jesting.  "  That's  it! 
That's  exactly  it." 

"  I  was  speaking  seriously.  It's  the  truth.  We  care 
nothing  about  each  other." 

"  Courtney !  "  he  admonished.  "  Aren't  you  carrying 
the  joke  too  far?  I  don't  think  you  realize  how  that 
sounds." 

"  I  realize  how  it  is." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  Why,  I  thought  you  were 
joking." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  How  pale  your  face  is.  And  what  a  strange  expres- 
sion round  the  mouth — and  your  eyes  are  circled.  Are  you 
ill,  dear?  " 

"  Absolutely  well.  It's  the  strain  of  getting  ready  to 
say  these  things  to  you."  She  saw  he  was  observing  her 
like  a  physician  studying  a  patient.  "  No,  I'm  not  insane, 
either,"  said  she  good-humoredly. 

"  What's  happened  to  upset  you?  " 
218 


THE   HUN  GEY   HEART 

She  put  one  knee  in  a  chair,  leaned  toward  him  over  its 
back,  her  elbows  upon  it.  Said  she,  "  It  isn't  a  matter  of 
to-day,  but  of  five  years — or,  rather,  of  four  years." 

He  straightened  up  in  his  chair.  She  imagined  that  his 
grandfather,  old  Colonel  Achilles,  must  have  looked  like  that 
at  the  same  age.  "  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  he  de- 
rnaiided. 

"  About  our  failure  as  a  married  couple,"  replied  she, 
meeting  his  gaze  with  calm  courage. 

"  Failure !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Why,  our  married  life  is 
ideal.  I  wouldn't  have  it  changed  in  the  least  particular." 
He  nodded  his  handsome,  powerful  head.  "  Not  in  the 
least  particular." 

She  had  expected  him  to  say  something  like  this.  But 
the  actual  words,  spoken  with  sincerity  and  conviction, 
stopped  her.  Her  road  had  ended  against  the  face  of  a 
cliff  with  a  precipice  on  either  side. 

"  I  want  to  be  free,"  she  said  desperately.  "  I  must 
be  free !  " 

"  Free  ?     You  are  free." 

"  I  mean  free  from  marriage,"  explained  she  gently, 
"  free  to  make  my  own  life." 

He  reflected,  looked  at  her,  reflected  again.  She  saw, 
as  plainly  as  if  his  thoughts  were  print  before  her  eyes,  that 
he  had  decided  she  was  a  spoiled  child  in  a  pet,  that  he  was 
trying  to  find  some  kindly,  effective  way  of  humoring  her. 
But  to  take  her  words  seriously,  to  meet  her  on  a  plane  of 
equality — the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  the  grandson  of 
Achilles  Vaughan,  and  could  not  occur  to  him.  Anger 
boiled  up  in  her,  evaporated.  She  laughed. 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly.  "Oh,  you  were  joking!" 
said  he  in  a  relieved  tone. 

"  That  wasn't  why  I  laughed.  It  was  to  save  myself 
219 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

from  doing  something  ridiculous — shouting  out,  or  upsetting 
the  table,  or  running  amuck." 

"  No  matter.  It's  clear  to  me  that  you're  not  yourself 
this  evening — not  at  all." 

"  Richard,"  said  she  slowly,  "  I  know  it's  hard  for  you 
to  believe  a  woman's  not  a  fool.  I  don't  expect  you  to 
credit  me  with  intelligence.  Perhaps  you  might  if  I  were 
a  big,  fat  woman  with  a  loud  voice.  But  I'm  not.  So, 
assume  I'm  as  silly  a  fool  as — as  most  women  pretend  to 
be,  to  catch  husbands  and  to  use  them  after  they're  caught. 
But  please  assume  also  that,  whatever  I  am  or  am  not,  I 
want  my  freedom.  And  try  to  realize  that  we  women  are 
living  in  the  twentieth  century  as  well  as  you  men — and  not 
in  the  tenth  or  fifteenth." 

His  expression  was  serious  and  respectful;  he  was  not 
one  to  fail  in  polite  consideration  for  the  feminine — the 
wayward,  capricious,  irrational  feminine  with  which  stronger 
and  rational  man  should  ever  be  patient  and  gentle.  But 
she  saw  that  he  was  in  reality  about  as  much  impressed  as 
he  would  have  been  by  a  demand  for  the  open  cage  door 
from  a  canary  born  and  bred  to  captivity  and  helplessness. 
He  came  round  the  table,  put  his  hands  tenderly  on  her 
shoulders,  pressed  his  lips  in  a  husbandly  caress  upon  the 
coil  of  auburn  hair  that  crowned  her  small  head.  "  You're 
tired  and  nervous  to-night,  dear,"  said  he  with  grave  kind- 
ness. "  So  we'll  not  talk  about  it  any  more.  Go  to  bed, 
and  get  a  good  night's  sleep.  Then " 

She  rose,  found  herself  at  a  disadvantage  standing  be- 
fore one  so  much  taller,  sat  down  in  another  chair.  "  Yes, 
I  am  tired  and  I  am  nervous.  But  I'm  also  in  earnest. 
Why,  if  we  weren't  strangers,  you'd  realize.  You'd  have 
felt  it  long  ago.  Can't  you  see  I'm  nothing  to  you  or  you 
to  me — that  is,  nothing  especial — nothing  that  ought  to 

220 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

satisfy  either  of  us  ?  "  She  was  trying  to  speak  with  serious 
calmness;  the  very  effort  overstrained  her.  And  his  face — 
its  expression  was  so  hopeless !  She  was  speaking  a  lan- 
guage he  did  not  understand,  was  speaking  of  matters  of 
which  he  had  not  the  faintest  glimmer  of  knowledge.  Her 
voice  broke;  she  steadied  it.  It  broke  again.  She  began  to 
sob.  "  This  life  of  ours  is  a  degradation.  It's  like  a  stag- 
nant pool — it's  death  in  life.  I  can't  stand  it.  I  want 
love — want  to  give  love  and  get  it!  My  whole  being  cries 
out  for  love!  I'm  dying  here  of  the  empty  heart.  I  must 
go.  I  ask  you  to  be  just — to  give  me  my  right — my  free- 
dom  " 

It  was  his  expression  that  stopped  her.  He  was  not  lis- 
tening to  her  words  at  all.  He  was  simply  waiting  for  her 
to  talk  out  her  hysteria,  as  he  thought  it,  so  that  he  could 
begin  to  soothe  the  agitated  child.  She  threw  out  her  arms 
in  despair. 

"  Go  on,  dear,"  he  urged.  "  Say  all  you  want.  You'll 
feel  better  for  it." 

The  cliff,  with  choice  between  turning  back  and  leaping 
over  one  of  the  precipices  on  either  side — the  precipice  of 
flight  to  Basil  in  secrecy  and  dishonor,  with  Winchie,  or 
the  precipice  of  a  divorce  with  Winchie  taken  away  from 
her.  She  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  and  burst  into  wild 
sobs.  With  Winchie  taken  away  from  her!  If  she  fled,  he 
would  follow,  would  take  Winchie.  If  she  divorced  him, 
he  would  take  Winchie.  It  was  hopeless — hopeless.  There 
was  no  escape.  Sobbing,  she  ran  round  and  round  her  pris- 
on's outer  court  to  which  she  had  penetrated.  It  had  no 
gates — none !  He  waited  until  she  was  quiet,  except  that 
her  shoulders  heaved  occasionally.  "  Poor  dear !  "  he  said 
tenderly.  "  Poor  child !  "  And  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 
She  felt  physically  and  morally  too  weak  for  the  least 
15 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

struggle.  She  lay  passive  against  his  breast,  her  heart- 
ache throbbing  dully.  He  carried  her  upstairs,  laid  her 
gently  on  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  her  bed.  "  Now  you  feel 
better,  don't  you?  "  said  he,  bending  over  her  and  smiling 
sympathetically  down. 

She  gazed  at  him  with  forlorn,  hopeless  eyes,  then  rested 
her  head  weakly  against  the  cushions  in  the  corner  of  the 
sofa. 

"  Of  course,  I  understood  that  what  you  were  saying  a 
while  ago  was  only  a  nervous  mood.  But  it  gave  me  a  shock, 
too.  I  know  now  what  was  the  matter." 

She  grew  cold,  rigid.  Did  he  suspect?  Would  he  take 
Winchie  ? 

"  I  admit  I've  been  neglecting  you  lately.  Gallatin's 
leaving  put  a  lot  of  work  on  me.  And,  too,  I  read  an  article 
that  gave  me  a  silly  scare — made  me  afraid  I'd  be  antici- 
pated in  one  of  my  discoveries  if  I  didn't  push  things.  But 
even  if  I  was  negligent,  I  can't  see  how  you  could  get  the 
notion  in  your  head  that  you  weren't  loved  any  more."  He 
sat  down  by  her  on  the  sofa,  kissed  the  nape  of  her  neck. 
"  I'll  make  up  for  it,"  he  murmured.  "  Why,  it'd  be  as 
impossible  for  me  to  stop  loving  you  as  for  you,  a  good 
woman,  to  stop  loving  your  husband.  The  idea  of  you  talk- 
ing divorce !  "  He  laughed  boyishly.  "  You  and  I — di- 
vorced !  What  a  naughty  child  it  was !  It  seems  dreadful 
that  those  pure  lips  could  be  sullied  by  such  a  word.  But 
it  never  was  in  your  heart.  A  woman  like  you,  a  woman  I 
trust  my  honor  to,  and  trust  my  boy  to,  couldn't  think  such 
things." 

His  words  and  manner,  all  tenderness,  were  for  her  re- 
minders of  the  Vaughan  prejudice  and  the  Vaughan  will 
and  the  Vaughan  pride  that  lay  behind;  the  clang  of  iron 
doors,  the  grate  of  brass  keys  in  steel  locks.  She,  back  in 

222 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

her  cell  and  prostrate  on  its  floor,  felt  she  must  indeed  have 
been  driven  out  of  her  senses  by  heart  hunger  to  imagine 
she  could  get  freedom  and  Winchie  from  Richard  Vaughan. 
How  love  and  hope  had  tricked  her ! 

"  Asleep,  dear  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  don't  doubt  my  love  any  longer,  do  you?  " 

She  moved  restlessly. 

"  Still  cross  ?  "  Ke  took  her  in  his  arms  in  spite  of  her 
struggles,  began  to  caress  her.  And  she  who  had  never 
resisted  did  not  know  how  to  resist  now — did  not  dare  to 
resist,  so  cowed  was  she  by  fear  of  losing  Winchie,  so 
utterly  was  she  despising  herself — "  nothing  but  a  woman." 
She  endured  till  reaction  stung  her  into  crying  out  in  an- 
guish :  "  For  God's  sake,  Richard !  I  am  so  miserable !  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  contritely.  "  I  thought  you  wanted 
it."  He  rose  at  once.  "  Would  you  like  to  be  left  alone  ?  " 

"  Please." 

"  You  forgive  me  for  neglecting  you?  " 

"Anything!"  she  cried.  "Only  go.  If  you  don't,  I 
shall — "  She  pressed  her  lips  together  tightly  and  drew 
all  her  nerves  and  muscles  tense  to  keep  back  the  avowal 
that  was  fighting  for  exit. 

"  I'll  give  up  my  work  until  you  feel  better." 

"  No  —  no.  I  don't  want  —  Go  —  please  go !  For 
Winchie's  sake — for  mine — for  your  own." 

He  did  not  attach  enough  importance  to  her  words  to 
note  them  and  inquire.  When  the  door  closed  behind  him, 
she  drew  a  long  breath — not  so  much  relief  that  she  was 
alone,  as  relief  that,  before  seeing  how  useless  it  was  to  try 
to  escape,  she  had  not  burst  out  with  the  whole  truth.  A 
turn  of  the  wind  of  emotion  before  he  spoke  of  Winchie, 
and  she  would  have  told  all !  Even  after  he  had  reminded 

223 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

her — yes,  even  until  the  door  closed  between  them,  she 
might  still  have  been  goaded  by  her  despair  or  by  his  man- 
ner into  precipitating  the  cataclysm 

"  For  he'd  never  have  let  me  see  Winchie  again !  "  And 
— what  else  would  he  have  done  ? — what  would  he  not  have 
done?  She  put  out  her  lights  and,  without  drawing  aside 
the  portiere,  softly  opened  Winchie's  door  and  entered. 
She  dropped  down  by  his  bed,  slipped  her  hand  under  the 
cover,  delicately  warm  from  his  healthy  young  body.  Her 
fingers  rested  upon  his  breast  over  his  heart.  That  calm, 
regular  throb  of  young  life  beat  upon  her  spirit  like  the 
soft,  insistent  rain  that  soothes  the  storm-racked  sea. 

Winchie!  If  she  had  lost  him!  If  she  had  brought 
disgrace  upon  him !  She  drew  her  hand  away  lest  its  trem- 
bling should  waken  him.  The  room  was  pitch  dark,  but 
she  could  see  him  lying  there,  his  tumbled  fair  hair  against 
the  white  pillow,  his  round  cheeks  flushed  with  healthy 
sleep.  She  sat  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed,  listening  to  his 
breathing.  She  had  gone  down  to  the  gates  of  the  world 
and  had  led  him  through  them  into  life.  Claim  upon  him 
she  had  none — for  he  owed  her  nothing,  and  if  his  lot  were 
not  happy  he  would  have  the  right  to  blame  her.  No,  he 
owed  her  nothing;  but  his  claim  upon  her  was  for  the  last 
moment  of  her  time,  for  the  last  thought  of  her  brain,  for 
the  last  drop  of  her  blood. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  Winchie,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I'd 
go  to  Basil.  I'd  leave  here  to-night.  I  owe  nothing  to 
Dick.  While  his  way  of  looking  at  life  is  not  his  fault, 
neither  is  it  mine.  And  as  it's  his  way,  not  mine,  he  should 
suffer  for  it,  not  I.  But  for  Winchie  I  must  stay — and  live 
— and  make  this  house  a  home." 

Never  again  would  there  be  the  least  danger  of  her 
being  goaded  into  telling  Richard  and  defying  and  compell- 

224 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

ing  him.  No  delirium,  not  even  a  fever  like  a  maniac  loose 
in  the  brain  and  hurling  all  its  tenant  thoughts  helter-skelter 
through  the  lips,  could  dislodge  that  secret.  It  was  sealed 
with  the  great  seal  of  a  mother's  love. 

When  she  came  down  to  breakfast,  Dick  was  at  one  of 
the  long  windows,  back  to  the  room,  hands  deep  in  trousers' 
pockets.  At  her  "  Good  morning,"  he  turned  quickly.  Be- 
fore he  answered,  he  noted  her  expression,  and  his  face 
brightened.  He  kissed  the  cheek  she  turned  for  him  as 
usual,  and  they  seated  themselves.  In  came  Mazie  with  the 
coffee;  it  had  the  delicious  fragrance  that  proclaims  fine 
coffee  well  made,  the  fragrance  that  will  put  the  grouchiest 
riser  into  an  amiable  frame  of  mind.  Then  she  brought  the 
spoon  bread  and  an  omelette — not  the  heavy,  solid,  yellow- 
brown  substantiality  that  passes  for  omelette  with  the  gen- 
eral, but  a  light  and  airy,  delicately  colored  thing  of  beauty 
such  as  a  skilled  cook  can  beat  up  from  eggs  the  hens  have 
laid  within  the  hour. 

"  Feeling  all  right  this  morning?  "  asked  Dick  when 
Mazie  had  gone  out. 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Courtney,  her  smiling  eyes  like  the 
dark  green  of  moss  round  where  the  spring  bubbles  up. 
She  was  rearranging  the  flowers  in  the  bowl. 

"  Sleep  well?  " 

She  had  not  slept  at  all.  She  evaded  his  question  by 
saying:  "  I  was  very  much  upset  last  night,  wasn't  I?  " 

Dick  made  a  gesture  of  generous  dismissal.  "  Oh,  I 
knew  it  was  only  a  passing  mood,"  said  he,  helping  himself 
liberally  to  the  omelette.  "  Everybody  has  moods.  Do  give 
me  some  of  that  coffee." 

Strange  indeed  was  the  expression  of  that  small,  quiet 
face.  What  a  chaos  a  few  blundering  words  from  her  a 

225 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

few  hours  ago  would  have  put  in  place  of  this  domestic  con- 
tent of  his !  "  I  want  to  say  one  thing  more/'  said  she, 
"  and  then  we'll  never  speak  of  last  night — or  what  led  up 
to  it" 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"  We  talked  a  lot  about  ourselves — and  I  was  thinking 
altogether  of  myself,  I  find.  But  the  truth  is,  Winchie's 
the  only  important  fact  in  our  lives.  We  don't  belong  to 
ourselves.  We  belong  to  him." 

"  That's  not  exactly  the  way  I'd  put  it,"  said  he  hesi- 
tatingly. "  Do  try  this  spoon  bread.  Mazie's  a  wonder  at 
making  it.  Do  try  it." 

"  Not  just  now,"  said  she.  "  No,  I  know  you  wouldn't 
put  it  that  way.  Put  it  any  way  you  like.  But  it  must  be 
Winchie  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  We  must  see  to  it  that 
he  has  the  right  sort  of  example — from  you — from  me — 
from  us  both." 

Dick  nodded  approvingly,  and  when  his  mouth  was 
empty,  said:  "  There's  no  disputing  that.  Where  is  he,  by 
the  way?  " 

"  He'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  replied  Courtney;  then 
went  on  unruffled:  "  If  you  and  I  had  had  love  before  our 
eyes  in  our  homes  when  we  were  children — 

"  But  I  did.  And  I'm  sure  your  father  and  mother  were 
an  equally  fine  example " 

"  No  matter/'  interrupted  Courtney.  Then  she  said,  in 
a  tone  that  revealed  for  the  first  time  how  profoundly  moved 
she  was :  "  The  point  is  I  want  you  to  help  me  make  a  home 
— of  love  for  Winchie." 

"  By  all  means !  "  exclaimed  Dick  heartily. 

He  stirred  his  coffee  thoughtfully,  looked  at  her  with 
puzzled  eyes;  and  she  saw  that  his  keen,  analytic  mind, 
usually  reserved  wholly  for  his  work,  was  curiously  inspect- 

226 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ing  her  words  and  her  manner  for  the  meaning  that  must 
be  beneath  so  much  earnestness  about  a  passing  anger  over 
a  few  days  of  neglect.  She  said  no  more — and  was  glad 
when  Winchie  came  rushing  in  to  turn  the  current  of  his 
thoughts.  As  he  was  leaving  for  the  shop,  he  hunted  her 
out  in  the  library  to  kiss  her  good-by — a  thing  he  had  not 
done  in  several  years. 

She  colored,  made  an  effort,  kissed  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  my  negligence  since  Basil  left  me  in 
the  lurch,"  said  he  cheerfully.  "  And  you're  sorry  you 
flew  into  such  a  fury  about  it.  And  it's  all  settled — and 
forgotten  ?  " 

"  We — make  a  fresh  start,"  replied  she. 

"  I'll  come  and  take  a  walk  with  you  before  dinner." 

"  No — no.  Please  don't.  You  mustn't  change  abrupt- 
ly." She  stopped,  confused  to  find  herself  already  shrink- 
ing from  the  new  course  she  had  so  highly  resolved.  "  Yes 
— do  come,"  said  she. 

"  Oh — I  forgot.  There's  one  thing  I  simply  must 
attend  to  to-day." 

"  Then — to-morrow." 

"  Yes  —  to-morrow  we'll  make  the  start  —  the  fresh 
start." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  relieved — for  she  felt  she  had 
done  her  duty. 

Instead  of  going  out  immediately  for  a  walk  with 
Winchie,  as  was  the  habit,  she  lingered  about  the  house, 
keeping  herself  busily  occupied.  She  must  write  Basil. 
What  she  said  must  be  final,  for  she  owed  him  the  truth. 
And  she  must  not  say  much;  a  long  letter  would  give  him 
hope,  no  matter  what  words  she  used,  and  would  harrow 
him  in  the  reading  and  her  in  the  writing.  At  last  she 
put  on  hat  and  even  gloves  for  the  walk,  sat  hastily  down 

227 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

at  her  desk,  wrote:  "  I  cannot.  I  belong  to  my  boy,  not 
to  myself."  She  wished  to  add,  "  I  shall  try  to  forget.  So 
must  you,  for  my  sake — "  and  also  some  word  of  love.  But 
with  the  two  sentence  she  halted  her  pen.  She  read  what 
she  had  written — "  I  cannot.  I  belong  to  my  boy — not  to 
myself."  She  folded  the  sheet,  sealed  it  in  an  envelope, 
addressed  it.  As  she  reached  for  the  stamp  she  called 
Winchie.  They  went  out  together,  and  she  mailed  the  let- 
ter in  the  box  at  the  edge  of  town.  Well,  it  was  settled — 
once  more.  Was  this  final?  "  Nothing  is  settled  until  it's 
settled  right."  And  she  said  to  herself  that  this  settle- 
ment was  undoubtedly  right — that  is,  as  nearly  right  as 
anything  ever  is.  Yes,  it  was  settled — but  her  father's 
uncompromising  axiom  continued  to  reiterate  its  clear-cut, 
unqualified  assertion. 

"  Why  did  you  sigh,  mamma  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Did  I  sigh?  "  said  she,  trying  to  smile  as  she  looked 
down  at  him. 

"  Yes — and  you  haven't  been  listening  as  we  came  along. 
You  didn't  hear  what  I  said  about  the  dead  whip-poor-will 
I  found  on  the  lawn — did  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  confessed.     "  But  I'll  listen  now." 

She  found  herself  wondering  at  her  calmness.  "  Per- 
haps," reflected  she,  "  my  fright  about  Winchie  conquered 
my  love.  And  how  deep  the  roots  of  my  life  are  sunk  into 
the  soil  of  this  place!  Still — I  don't  understand  it  It 
doesn't  seem  natural  I  should  be  calm."  There  flashed 
before  her  mind  a  picture — herself  flying  disheveled — com- 
ing forward  with  laughter  and  jest — and  lie — with  the 
sting  of  forbidden  kisses  still  upon  her  face — the  thrill  of 
forbidden  caresses —  And  she  flushed  crimson  as  the  au- 
tumnal maples  above  her  head,  and  glanced  guiltily  down  at 
Winchie — and  saw  that  he  was  trying  to  pretend  not  to  see. 

228 


XV 

LONG  before  Dick  got  caught  up  with  the  particular 
piece  of  work  that  postponed  their  "  fresh  start/'  Court- 
ney's "  queer  mood  "  and  his  own  resolution  were  shelved 
in  one  of  those  back  closets  of  his  memory  where  reposed 
in  darkness  and  dust  matters  relating  to  his  family.  He 
forgot  nothing;  his  was  not  the  forgetting  kind  of  mind. 
Everything  was  stored  away  somewhere,  under  its  proper 
heading,  ready  for  him  if  he  should  happen  to  need  it.  But 
for  that  especial  matter  there  came  no  demand.  His  happy 
married  life  had  resumed  its  unrippled  course.  He  worked, 
with  allowance  for  exercise — usually  a  long  walk  or  a  row 
on  the  lake  in  the  very  early  morning,  before  breakfast. 
Courtney  occupied  herself  with  house  and  garden.  She 
was  building  a  vegetable  greenhouse  with  a  small  legacy 
from  an  aunt;  also,  there  was  the  household  routine  of  a 
multitude  of  time-filling,  thought-filling,  not  to  be  neg- 
lected details  for  keeping  things  smooth  and  orderly — and 
there  were  reading  and  painting  and  music — and  there 
were  callers  and  visits.  She  even  began  to  be  philosoph- 
ical about  the  almost  daily  evidences  that  her  husband 
regarded  her  as  an  inferior.  All  men  felt  that  way  toward 
women.  The  very  men  who  never  made  a  move  without 
consulting  their  wives  thought  themselves  superior  intelli- 
gences, and  their  wives  mere  possessors  of  a  crafty  instinct, 
in  common  with  the  lower  animals,  an  instinct  that  was 
worth  availing  themselves  of,  as  long  as  it  was  right  there 
in  the  house.  No,  she  was  a  silly  supersensitive,  she  told 
herself,  to  be  disturbed  by  such  a  ridiculous  universal  mas- 

229 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

culine   weakness   of   vanity.      As   husbands   went,   Richard 
was  about  as  good  as  any — better  than  most. 

The  evenings  they  spent  together.  A  charming  picture 
of  family  life  they  made  each  evening  during  that  rare, 
exquisite  September.  The  big  log  fire  in  the  sitting  room; 
he  at  the  desk,  she  reading  or  sewing,  or,  less  frequently, 
playing  and  singing  softly.  She  had  never  been  lovelier. 
The  slightly  haggard  look  was  becoming  to  her  young  face, 
and  the  weariness  of  the  eyelids  also,  and  the  pathos  of 
her  mouth  so  eager  to  smile,  and  the  milky  emerald  of  the 
eyes,  like  seas  troubled  so  deep  down  that  the  surface  was 
only  clouded,  but  not  ruffled.  Sometimes  she  let  Winchie 
stay  with  them  an  hour  or  so.  Then  the  picture  was  com- 
plete— the  boy  playing  on  the  floor  before  the  fire,  making 
what  he  called  drawings  at  the  table,  always  between  his 
father  and  his  mother,  always  nearer  his  mother,  near 
enough  to  put  out  his  hand  and  touch  her  and  make  quite 
sure  of  the  reality  of  her  lovely  presence.  Yes,  she  assured 
herself  many  times  each  day,  the  struggle  was  over;  the 
pain  would  grow  less  and  less,  would  pass — for  the 
question  of  her  life  relations  was  settled — "  and  settled 
right." 

This  until  mid-October,  when  the  bleak  rains  inaugu- 
rated what  promised  to  be  a  worse  than  the  previous  win- 
ter. On  the  fourth  successive  day  indoors,  as  she  sat  at 
a  drawing  table  in  the  upstairs  sitting  room,  she  sud- 
denly lifted  her  head,  thrust  back  the  table,  flung  down 
the  pencil,  and  rushed  to  the  window.  The  lawns  were 
flooded.  Bushes  and  trees  were  drearily  fluttering  the  last 
wet  faded  tatters  of  autumnal  finery.  Decay — desolation — 
death —  "  Will  he  never  come !  Will  he  never  write !  " 
And  the  secret  of  her  calm,  so  carefully  guarded  from  her- 
self, was  a  secret  from  her  no  longer. 

230 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

It  had  been  a  farce — the  six  weeks  of  resignation.  One 
of  self-deception's  familiar  farces;  those  farces  that  finally 
make  old  people  cynical  in  spite  of  themselves  about  the 
reality  of  disinterested  goodness,  of  self-sacrifice,  of  any- 
thing except  selfishness.  A  farce — nothing  more.  That 
was  why  she  could  write  a  brief  farewell  and  send  it  off 
with  merely  a  pang  and  a  sigh.  And  ever  since  she  had 
been  confidently  waiting  for  something  to  happen.  Some- 
thing? What  but  his  coming — coming  to  give  her  again 
the  love  that  was  life  and  light  to  her,  the  love  she  could 
no  more  refuse  than  a  drowning  man  can  withhold  his 
hand  from  clutching  the  rope  though  the  devil  himself  toss 
it.  And  once  more  her  father's  maxim,  "  Nothing  is  set- 
tled until  it's  settled  right,"  began  to  thrust  itself  at  her 
— mockingly  now,  as  if  deriding  her  self-deceiving  at- 
tempts to  found  her  life  upon  conditions  to  which  mind 
and  conscience  had  agreed,  but  not  heart.  And  heart,  the 
most  powerful  of  the  trinity  that  must  harmonize  within 
a  human  being  or  there  is  no  peace — heart  had  suddenly 
torn  up  the  treaty  of  peace  and  declared  war.  And  Avar 
there  was. 

About  seven  that  evening  Dick  knocked  at  her  bedroom 
door.  "  May  I  come?  "  he  called. 

"  Yes — if  you  won't  stay  long,"  was  her  reply  in  a 
listless  tone. 

He  entered,  looked  surprised  when  he  saw  her  propped 
up  in  bed  with  her  supper  tray  in  her  lap.  "  Are  you 
ill?" 

"  No." 

"  You  didn't  come  down  to  supper." 

"  No." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  you  to  do  this  before." 

"  No." 

231 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Your  voice  sounds — strange — tired." 

"  I  am." 

**  You  don't  exercise  enough,  I  guess.  And  there's  little 
for  you  to  do  about  the  house — with  Lizzie  looking  after 
the  flowers  and  Nanny  such  a  good  housekeeper  and  Mazie 
such  a  splendid  cook.  We're  getting  the  benefit  of  my 
aunt's  toil.  She  built  up  such  a  splendid  system  that  it 
runs  itself — and  there's  really  not  enough  for  you  to  do. 
You  ought  to " 

"  Won't  you  take  this  tray — take  it  down  with  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  sit  a  while  ?  " 

"  Don't  let  me  interfere  with  your  work." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  hurry." 

"  I'm  sure  you  want  to  be  at  it." 

He  took  the  tray  from  her  lap,  put  it  on  the  floor  beside 
his  chair.  She  reached  for  the  book  on  the  stand  at  her 
elbow,  opened  it,  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him  to  go.  He 
glanced  round  uncertainly.  "  What  a  charming  room  this 
is,"  said  he.  "  That  pale  brown  paper  with  the  panels 
made  by  broad  violet  stripes —  Let  me  see — was  this  one 
of  the  rooms  you  did  over  ?  " 

She  was  reading. 

"  Yes — of  course.  In  my  aunt's  time —  You'd  have 
admired  her,  and  she'd  have  been  invaluable  as  a  teacher. 
But  then  she  taught  Nanny;  and  Nanny's  been  very  good 
about  teaching  you,  hasn't  she?  " 

No  answer. 

He  laughed.  "  We've  got  a  rather  bad  habit  of  not 
listening — haven't  we  ?  " 

"  Oh — I  don't  mind." 

He  glanced  at  the  tray.  "  Why,  you  didn't  eat  any- 
thing !  " 

"  No." 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you're  not  ill?" 

"  Quite." 

"  Well,  if  there's  anything  I  can •" 

"  Nothing,  thanks." 

He  went  to  the  bed,  bent  over  and  kissed  her.  "  Good 
night." 

"Good  night."  She  was  reading  again;  and  his 
thoughts  returned  to  his  work  as  he  closed  her  bedroom 
door  behind  him.  If  he  had  looked  in  on  her  an  hour  later, 
he  might  have  seen  that  she  had  not  yet  turned  the  page 
she  pretended  to  begin,  to  get  rid  of  him — or,  rather,  to 
help  him  go  where  he  really  wished  to  be.  And  he  would 
have  distrusted  her  assurance  that  she  was  not  ill.  For 
her  eyes,  wide  and  circled  and  wretched,  were  staring  into 
space.  She  was  indeed  ill — ill  of  loneliness,  of  heart-emp- 
tiness, of  that  hope  deferred  which  inaketh  the  heart  sick. 
And  the  rain  streamed  on  and  on.  The  sight  of  it  by  day 
filled  her  with  the  despair  that  lowers  and  rages.  The 
sound  of  it  monotonously  pattering  upon  the  balcony  at 
night  changed  her  despair  from  active  to  passive,  from  vain 
revolt  to  lying  inert  in  the  wash  of  inky  waves  under  inky 
sky. 

The  sympathy  between  her  and  Winchie  was  so  close 
that  they  were  like  one  rather  than  like  two.  He  had  early 
discovered  her  sensitiveness  to  the  weather,  but  never  be- 
fore had  he  seen  her  frankly  downhearted.  He  did  not 
annoy  her.  He  watched  her  furtively,  his  little  heart 
aching.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  near  the  west  windows 
of  the  upstairs  sitting  room.  From  them,  now  that  the 
trees  were  almost  bare,  he  could  see  part  of  the  Donald- 
son's roof — the  part  topped  by  a  weather  vane.  He  knew 
that  so  long  as  the  vane  pointed  east  the  rains  would  pour 
down,  and  his  mother's  low  spirits  would  continue — that 

233 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

when  it  should  veer  to  the  west  the  rain  would  cease  and 
the  sky  clear. 

Day  after  day  he  watched,  his  hopes  rising  as  the  vane 
veered  now  toward  the  north,  now  toward  the  south,  and 
falling  again  as,  with  a  jerk,  it  flirted  back  into  the  eye 
of  the  east.  That  vane  was  the  last  thing  he  saw  as  the 
darkness  closed  down  in  the  late  afternoon;  it  was  the  first 
thing  he  looked  at  in  the  morning,  dashing  to  the  window 
the  instant  he  awakened.  The  change  came  in  the  night, 
when  it  finally  did  come.  As  he  awakened,  the  difference 
in  the  light,  in  the  feel  of  the  air  told  him  that  all  was 
well  once  more.  But  he  made  sure;  he  hurried  to  one  of 
his  windows,  turned  the  slats  of  a  blind,  looked  at  the 
vane.  Then,  with  a  shout,  he  darted  to  her  door,  beat 
upon  it,  crying:  "Mamma!  Mamma  Courtney!  The 
wind's  west — the  wind's  west !  " 

She  understood,  opened  the  door.  She  had  made  her 
face  bright.  "  Thank  you — thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice,  as  she  knelt  and  took  him  in  her  arms. 
He  put  one  of  his  small  hands  on  each  of  her  cheeks,  kissed 
her,  then  looked  into  her  eyes.  His  face  fell.  She  could 
not  deceive  him;  it  had  not  been  the  rain. 

The  wind  was  in  the  west;  her  mood  veered — but  to  an- 
other futility.  She  watched  for  the  postman.  She  startled 
and  ran  to  the  window  at  every  crunch  of  wheels  on  the 
drive.  She  was  agitated  whenever  the  telephone  bell  rang. 
At  night  every  suggestion  of  sound  from  the  direction  of 
the  window  made  her  lift  her  head  from  the  pillow  to 
listen;  and  often  she  would  fly  to  open  a  shutter  and  lean 
out  into  the  darkness.  She  would  not  go  to  Wenona,  lest 
he  should  come  while  she  was  away.  She  never  left  the 
house  for  a  walk  without  telling  the  servants  just  where 
she  was  going — "  and  if  anyone  comes,  send  for  me." 

234 


Never  before  had  she  surrendered  to  the  somber  mood; 
she  had  always  met  it  by  taking  up  some  one  of  the  things 
at  hand  that  interested  her,  and  working  at  it  until  health 
and  youth  and  hope  reasserted  themselves.  But  this  time 
she  could  find  nothing  to  build  upon;  it  was  all  quick- 
sand, slipping  away  and  leaving  her  to  sink.  She  no 
longer  cared  about  her  surroundings.  She  had  always  seen 
to  it  that  the  servants  she  had  so  thoroughly  trained  in 
a  modern  system  she  had  carefully  worked  out  did  their 
duties,  and  did  them  well.  Now  she  let  the  servants  do  as 
they  pleased — and  they  soon  pleased  to  do  very  poorly — 
as  poorly  as  the  average  human  being  does,  unless  held 
rigidly  from  his  natural  tendencies  to  slovenliness  and 
shirking.  She  had  always  done  the  buying  for  the  kitchen, 
and  had  herself  selected  at  the  farm  the  things  to  be  sent 
over.  Now  the  good  old  days  of  Aunt  Eudosia  returned, 
with  the  farmer  sending  whatever  gave  him  or  one  of  "  the 
hands  "  the  least  trouble,  and  with  Nanny  accepting  from 
the  storekeepers  what  they  chose  at  their  own  price.  The 
bills  went  up;  yet  the  meat  was  often  tough,  the  chickens 
and  game  inferior,  the  butter  and  eggs  only  fair,  instead 
of  the  very  best.  Canned  vegetables  appeared  on  the  table 
when  fresh  vegetables  were  still  to  be  had.  The  coffee  was 
capricious.  The  table  itself  was  carelessly  set;  napkins 
were  used  several  times,  instead  of  only  once;  tablecloths 
did  not  always  go  into  the  wash  with  the  first  spot.  Lizzie 
and  Mazie  lost  no  opportunity  to  cut  down  the  amount  of 
work  they  would  have  to  do  on  wash  and  ironing  days. 

In  the  living  rooms,  upstairs  as  well  as  down,  there  was 
no  longer  the  beautiful  order  that  had  made  the  interior  a 
pleasure  to  the  eye  and  so  comfortable.  A  chair  had  only 
three  casters ;  a  door  was  losing  its  knob.  A  window  cur- 
tain had  broken  away  from  its  rod  at  one  corner  and  was 

235 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

hanging  down.  Several  cushions  had  rips  in  them  that 
would  soon  be  rents.  Winchie's  ravages  remained  unre- 
paired— and  unrebuked.  The  flowers  in  the  vases  were  not 
fresh  every  day,  and  were  arranged  by  a  servant's  heavy 
hands.  Window  gardens  and  baskets  and  hothouse  suf- 
fered from  alterations  of  drought  and  deluge,  and  showed 
it.  The  red  spider  was  rarely  interrupted  in  his  ruinous 
feasts.  Where  order  has  been  perfect,  brief  neglect  pro- 
duces unsightly  disorder.  The  house  was  becoming  like 
most  houses — indifferently  looked  after  by  women  who 
know  little  about  housekeeping  as  an  art  and  feel  "  above  " 
the  endless  petty  details  that  must  be  attended  to,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  enterprise,  if  there  is  to  be  success.  The  work 
of  changing  the  library  to  a  winter  conservatory  had,  like 
the  vegetable  greenhouse,  been  begun,  and  abandoned 
midway. 

From  the  house  the  blight  spread  to  herself.  It  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  for  a  person  who  has  been  bred  from 
birth  in  personal  order  and  cleanliness  to  become  really 
slovenly  and  dirty,  unless  beaten  down  into  the  hopeless 
wretchedness  of  extreme  poverty.  But  Courtney  had  lost 
interest  in  herself,  just  as  she  had  lost  interest  in  the 
house.  She  got  herself  together  "  any  old  way "  in  the 
mornings,  took  to  breakfasting  in  bed.  Sometimes  she 
dressed  for  supper,  and  sometimes  she  came  in  working  or 
walking  clothes  or  in  the  negligee  she  had  been  wearing 
all  day.  Sometimes  her  blo'use  was  buttoned  in  the  back, 
oftener  it  was  partly  open.  Wrinkled  stockings  had  been 
her  especial  abhorrence,  as  she  was  proud  of  her  slim  taper- 
ing legs;  now  she  habitually  went  the  whole  day  without 
garters.  She  read  much,  and  always  novels.  Formerly 
their  pandering  to  "  spirituality,"  to  "  culture,"  to  all 
the  silly  and  enfeebling  sentimentalisms  had  bored  her. 

236 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

They  had  offended  her  sense  of  what  was  truly  ideal — for, 
even  thus  early  in  her  development,  she  had  a  strong  sus- 
picion that  "  idealism  "  was  not  a  mode  of  life  but  a  strut, 
and  that  "  idealists  "  were  not  above  but  beneath  useful- 
ness. Now  she  took  novels  as  a  drug  fiend  his  dope.  Any- 
thing to  escape  reality — the  ugly  facts  which  her  negli- 
gence was  making  uglier  day  by  day. 

She  was  in  the  way  trod  by  so  many  women  who,  mar- 
ried and  safe,  cease  to  compete  and  deteriorate  physically, 
morally,  and  mentally.  And  she  knew  it.  She  had  too 
much  intelligence  to  delude  herself,  as  some  women  do. 
Instead  of  being  angered  when  evidence  of  her  plight 
thrust  at  her,  she  found  bitter  satisfaction  in  it.  "  I'll 
soon  be  down  to  the  level  of  those  '  good  '  women  Dick 
regards  as  models,"  thought  she.  And  she  read  on  at  her 
novels. 

And  still  she  continued  to  hope,  though  she  constantly 
assured  herself  that  hope  was  dead  and  buried.  It  was 
nearly  Christmas ;  he  had  been  gone  more  than  four  months 
— a  hundred  and  thirty  days.  No  word  from  him,  no  sign. 
"  It's  over,"  declared  she.  "  It  was  just  physical  attrac- 
tion, nothing  more.  And  he  got  enough."  This  lash  upon 
pride  and  vanity  stung.  But  the  pain  seemed  to  ease 
another  and  fiercer  pain,  and  she  scourged  on.  "  He  got 
enough.  In  New  York  he  found  fresh  attraction — not 
hard  for  a  man  with  money  and  free."  Yes,  he  had 
used  her,  despising  her  the  while — how  she  writhed  as  she 
rubbed  the  coarse  salt  of  these  taunts  into  her  wounds! — 
had  used  her,  despising  her  the  while,  had  cast  her  away, 
like  the  butt  of  a  smoked  cigarette.  "  And  why  shouldn't 
he  use  and  despise  and  drop  me?  Could  anyone  have  been 
'  easier '  than  I  was — I,  poor  fool,  with  my  dreams  of  love, 
and  my  loneliness  and  credulity?  Well,  anyhow  he  ought 
16  237 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

to  be  grateful  to  fate  for  having  given  him  a  distraction  in 
this  dull  hole."  .  .  .  What  vanity  had  been  hers,  to  im- 
agine she  could  win  and  hold  such  a  man  as  he — man  of  the 
world,  experienced,  clever.  What  colossal  vanity !  "  Really, 
I  deserve  all  I've  got.  I'm  just  like  the  rest  of  the  women 
— a  vanity  box,  a  mirror  and  a  powder  puff,  silly  and 
empty — a  fool  for  men  to  flatter  and  wheedle  and  laugh 
at.  ...  What  a  poor,  dependent  thing  a  woman  is  !  Dick's 
right;  we're  worthless  except  as  pastimes.  Don't  we  always 
despise  and  trample  on  a  man  who  takes  us  seriously?  We 
feel  he  has  dropped  down  to  our  level." 

She  dissected,  one  by  one,  the  "  good  "  women  over  in 
the  town  and  in  the  big  houses  along  the  south  shore — 
their  inane  lives,  their  inane  pastimes,  their  inane  conver- 
sation. What  animal  grossness  concealed  by  manners  and 
a  thin  veneer  of  education,  just  as  their  costly  clothes  con- 
cealed the  truth  about  their  neglected  bodies.  What  lazy 
ignorance  beneath  those  pretentious  fads  for  "  culture  "  or 
religion  or  charity.  And  the  men,  too — through  their  pas- 
sions dominated  by  these  women.  Not  an  idea — not  an  as- 
piration— just  hunting  and  money-making  and  eating  and 
drinking — catering  to  crude  appetites.  Slavish  conform- 
ity to  the  soddening,  mind-suffocating  routine  prescribed 
by  custom  for  the  comfortable  classes.  Fit  associates, 
these  men  and  their  women.  The  nauseating  hypocrisies 
and  self-cheating  about  virtue  and  piety  and  "  pure  fam- 
ily life !  "  A  pigsty  of  a  world,  if  one  looked  at  it  as 
it  was,  instead  of  at  its  professions  and  pretenses.  "  I'd 
rather  be  the  dupe  of  my  own  honest  folly  than  the  dupe 
of  the  world's  cheap  frauds.  At  least,  I  aspired.  And 
now  that  I've  fallen  back  into  the  muck,  all  bruised  and 
broken,  I  don't  lie  to  myself  about  its  being  muck.  .  .  . 
And  what  can  I  do  for  Winchie?  If  I  teach  him  what  he 

238 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ought  to  be,  I'll  unfit  him  for  life  in  the  world.  If  I  fit 
him  for  life  in  the  world,  I  must  teach  him  to  pretend,  to 
cheat,  to  lie,  to  trample  and  cringe.  If  I  teach  him  the 
truth  about  women,  he'll  become  a  rake.  If  I  don't,  he'll 
become  their  dupe.  If  I  teach  him  the  truth  about  men, 
he'll  shun  them.  If  I  don't,  they  will  debauch  him." 

A  wound  always  constructs  a  cover,  to  protect  itself 
while  it  is  healing.  The  wounded  heart  of  an  intelligent 
man  or  woman  usually  protects  itself  with  the  scab  of 
cynicism.  For  the  last  few  years  Courtney  had  shared  with 
Wenona's  few  progressive,  restless  young  married  women 
that  reputation  for  thinking  and  saying  startling  things 
which  anyone  at  all  free  in  thought  and  speech  soon  gets 
among  conventional  people.  Now  she  became  a  mild  scan- 
dal. Wenona  appreciated  that  it  was  the  fashion  in  these 
degenerate  days,  the  mark  of  the  "  upper  class,"  to  indulge 
in  audacities  of  every  kind.  Also,  whatever  a  Benedict 
and  a  Vaughan  did  must  be  just  about  right.  But  some- 
times, when  she  was  in  a  particularly  insurgent  mood,  her 
callers  went  away  dazed. 

They  wondered  what  her  husband  thought  of  such  dis- 
belief in  everything  that  men,  themselves  disbelieving,  held 
it  imperative  for  women  to  believe — women  and  children 
and  preachers.  The  fact  was  he  knew  nothing  about  it. 
Conversation  between  him  and  his  wife  was  confined  to 
the  necessary  routine  matters,  and  never  extended  beyond 
a  few  sentences.  They  saw  each  other  at  table  only;  then 
Winchie  did  most  of  the  talking,  or  it  grew  out  of  and 
centered  round  things  he  had  inquired  about.  Richard  and 
Courtney  neither  acted  nor  felt  like  strangers.  That  would 
have  meant  strain.  They  ignored  each  other  with  the  easy 
unconsciousness  that  characterizes  an  intimate  life  in  which 
there  is  no  sympathy,  no  common  interest.  When  Richard 

239 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

talked  about  his  work,  as  he  did  occasionally,  merely  the 
better  to  arrange  his  thoughts,  Courtney  did  not  listen. 
When  Courtney  and  Winchie  talked  together,  Richard  did 
not  listen. 

"  You  saw  the  news  in  to-day's  paper  ?  "  said  Richard 
at  supper  a  few  days  after  Christmas. 

As  he  continued  to  look  expectantly  at  her,  she  roused 
herself  from  her  reverie,  slowly  grasped  his  question.  "  I 
didn't  read  to-day's  papers,"  answered  she. 

"  Well,  Gallatin's  engagement's  announced — from  Phil- 
adelphia." 

She  nerved  herself  for  the  reaction  of  inward  turmoil 
which  would,  she  felt,  certainly  follow  such  a  blow.  To 
her  amazement  no  reaction  came.  She  felt  as  calm  as  if 
the  news  had  been  about  some  one  of  whom  she  had  never 
heard. 

"  Why,  you  seem  not  to  be  interested." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  she  indifferently. 

"  I  remember,  you  didn't  like  him." 

It  almost  seemed  true  to  her.  Or,  rather,  that  she  had 
never  cared  about  him  one  way  or  the  other. 

"  And  he  so  mad  about  you,"  continued  Richard  with 
raillery.  "  I'll  never  forget  the  looks  he  used  to  give  you 
— or  the  ones  he  gave  me,  either.  Well,  it's  all  over  now. 
He's  evidently  cured." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Courtney.  She  looked  calmly  at 
him,  shifted  her  gaze.  It  happened  to  fall  upon  Winchie. 
The  boy  was  frowning  jealously  into  his  plate.  She  col- 
ored. She  never  had  the  slightest  self-consciousness  about 
Basil  with  Richard,  but  only  with  the  boy.  However,  the 
reminder  soon  passed  in  marvel  at  her  amazing  tranquillity. 
How  could  she  be  thus  calm  in  face  of  such  a  blow?  Had 

240 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

she  really  conquered  her  love?  Had  this  sudden,  unex- 
pected news  of  his  perfidy  killed  it  all  in  an  instant?  Had 
she  never  loved  him? 

Richard  had  been  talking,  and  she  had  been  so  absorbed 
she  had  not  heard.  Now  he  was  holding  a  letter  across  the 
table  toward  her.  Mechanically  she  reached  out,  took  it, 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  it.  "  And  Mrs.  Torrey  says,"  Richard 
was  explaining,  "  that  we  ought  to  ask  Cousin  Helen  here 
— for  a  few  months  at  least — until  she  gets  over  her 
father's  death." 

"  Wenona's  no  place  for  a  girl  in  search  of  a  husband." 

"  A  husband !  "  exclaimed  Richard.  "  Who  said  any- 
thing about  a  husband?  " 

"  Now  that  her  father's  dead,  with  nothing  but  a  small 
life  insurance,  she's  got  to  marry." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  That's  what  Mrs.  Torrey 's  saying  between  these 
lines."  And  she  handed  the  letter  back. 

"  Mrs.  Torrey 's  a  fine,  noble  old  lady.  Such  sordid 
ideas  never'd  enter  her  head." 

"  Mrs.  Torrey 's  a  woman." 

"  And  a  good  one — and  so  is  Helen,"  maintained  Rich- 
ard. "  Marrying's  about  the  last  idea  in  her  head  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  theory — among  men  who  know 
nothing  about  women." 

"  She's  doubtless  almost  prostrated  with  grief." 

"  With  anxiety,  perhaps.  Not  with  grief.  Not  for  a 
worthless  old  drunkard." 

"  You  forget,  Courtney.     He  was  her  father." 

Courtney  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "  So  much  the  more 
certain  she  detested  him.  She  had  to  live  right  up  against 
him." 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Richard  leaned  forward  slightly,  to  add  emphasis  to 
his  rebuke.  "  I  repeat,  Helen  is  a  good  woman — a  woman 
with  a  sense  of  duty.  She  must  have  loved  him." 

"  Why  repeat  such  twaddle  ?  "  inquired  Courtney,  unim- 
pressed. "  What  has  duty  to  do  with  hearts?  " 

Dick  looked  strong  disapproval.  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter, my  dear?  You're  not  talking  in  the  least  like  your- 
self." 

"  You  always  make  that  same  remark,"  observed  Court- 
ney, "  whenever  I  say  anything  that  does  not  suit  you." 

"  Are  you  irritated  by  the  prospect  of  Helen's  com- 
ing? If  you  don't  want  her " 

"  I  am  not  irritated  about  anything.  As  for  Helen,  I 
care  not  a  rap  one  way  or  the  other." 

Winchie  had  finished.  He  kissed  his  father,  then  his 
mother  good  night,  and  went  upstairs.  Richard  came  out 
of  a  deep  study  to  say,  "  It's  a  pity  Gallatin  isn't  free  and 
here — if  Helen  comes." 

"  It  would  have  made  a  good  match,"  said  Courtney 
judiciously.  "  A  splendid  living  for  Helen." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Gallatin's  wealth,"  protested 
Richard,  reddening.  Then  he  laughed,  "  At  least,  not  alto- 
gether." 

"  The  living's  the  main  point  in  marriage." 

"  What  an  unpleasant  mood  you're  in." 

"  I  ?     I  never  felt  more  amiable." 

"  Have  I  said  anything  to  offend  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing."  She  rose  languidly.  "  You're  still  the 
model — not  a  single  redeeming  fault." 

She  stretched  herself  with  slow,  lazy  grace.  "  But 
you,"  said  lie,  "  are  a  bundle  of  redeeming  faults  and 
vagaries — a  bouquet  of  them."  And  he  was  about  to 
kiss  her. 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  flung  away  from  him  with  flashing  eyes.  He 
stared,  amazed.  "  How  you  startled  me!  "  she  exclaimed, 
quickly  changing  her  expression  from  fury  to  half-laughing 
irritation. 

"  Miss  Caprice !  "     And  his  gaze  was  soft  and  brilliant. 

There  was  a  virgin  coldness  in  her  manner  that  puz- 
zled and  abashed  him.  "  How  I  hate  this  body  of  mine, 
sometimes ! "  said  she.  "  An  admiring  look  makes  me 
angry,  and  a  kiss  seems  an  insult.  Come  to  me  with  your 
love  when  I'm  old  and  ugly.  Then,  perhaps,  I'll  be- 
lieve it." 

And  she  strolled  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs.  The 
instant  she  had  her  bedroom  door  locked,  she  knew  why 
she  had  come  away — knew  she  had  been  obeying  an  in- 
stinct warning  her  secret  self  that  she  could  not  many 
minutes  longer  endure  the  strain.  "  But  really  I  am  calm," 
she  insisted.  In  the  same  second  her  wound  opened  and 
was  aching  and  bleeding  and  throbbing,  unhealed.  "  I  can 
never  forget — never !  "  she  cried.  "  Was  it  only  this  body 
of  mine  he  cared  for?  What  does  it  matter?  Even  the 
little  he  gave  was  more  than  I  had  to  give.  I  ought 
to  have  been  more  humble  about  giving — I  who  had  so 
little.  And  what  happiness  he  gave  me  in  exchange !  No 
— not  happiness,  but  more  than  happiness."  Her  eyes 
strained  into  the  night.  It  was  so  dreary — so  lonely. 
"Basil! — Basil!  I'm  dying  for  you — dying  from  the 
core  out !  " 

She  flung  her  windows  wide.  The  snow  came  whirl- 
ing in.  The  wind  was  moaning  among  the  branches.  Some- 
where, far  away,  a  bell  tolled.  Silence,  utter  solitude,  a 
stretch  of  white  snow  under  a  black  sky,  and  the  chilling 
cold.  "  Come  to  me !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  so  cold — so 
lonely — so  hungry!  And  I  love  you." 

243 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

Even  where  a  woman  cannot  doubt  that  her  lover  has 
forgotten,  there  are  times  when  memory — of  his  vows  so 
convincing,  of  his  caresses  that  seemed  the  inspiration  of 
her  charms  alone — makes  her  defy  certainty  and  believe. 
And  Courtney  had  no  real  reason  to  think  him  either  false 
or  forgetful.  They  had  been  torn  apart  when  their  love 
was  still  hungry  and  thirsty,  when  even  the  long  calm  that 
precedes  satiety  was  still  far  in  the  future,  when  they  were 
so  absorbed  in  loving  that  they  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
begin  to  get  acquainted  with  each  other's  real  self.  It  was 
doubt  of  him  that  was  forced,  belief  in  him  that  was  natu- 
ral. "  If  he  were  not  so  strong,  so  honorable!  "  she  cried. 
"  Ah,  if  he  were  only  where  I  could  tempt  him !  " 

Even  the  thought  of  Winchie  now  lost  all  power  to 
check  her;  he  was  too  much  like  part  of  herself.  She 
seemed  as  placid  in  her  slender  youthfulness  as  those  hand- 
some matronly  women  who  suggest  extinct  volcanoes  cov- 
ered with  flowers  and  smiling  fields.  Beneath  her  manner 
of  monotonous,  emotionless  calm  she  was  battling  with  the 
temptation  to  take  her  boy  and  fly  from  that  cold  desola- 
tion of  loveless  loneliness,  to  fly  to  him.  If  Richard  had 
not  been  absolutely  apart  from  her  life,  absolutely  out  of 
her  thoughts  she  would  have  hated  him.  As  it  was  her 
rage  fretted  at  the  impersonal  barriers  and  bonds  that  held 
her — not  Richard,  but  conventionality  and,  above  all,  lack 
of  money.  "  If  only  I  had  money !  "  she  cried  again  and 
again. 

But  she  had  nothing — her  clothes,  a  few  dollars  that 
must  be  paid  out  for  expenses  already  incurred.  "  If  I 
went  to  him,  it  would  be  to  become  his  dependent,  just 
as  I  am  Richard's.  Oh,  the  horror  of  being  a  woman ! 
Bred  to  dependence;  bred  for  the  market;  bred  to  tease 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

some  man  into  undertaking  her  support  for  life.  There  is 
the  rotten  spot  in  my  whole  life.  If  Richard  had  ever 
deigned  to  speculate  as  to  what  was  going  on  in  my  head, 
he'd  never  have  dared  touch  me.  He'd  have  feared  I  was 
his  only  for  hire.  But  would  he  care?  Doesn't  he  expect 
me  to  be  true  because  he  supports  me?  Isn't  that  what 
marriage  means,  beneath  the  cant  and  pretense?  Yes,  I'm 
simply  part  of  his  property,  and  the  pretenses  that  gloze 
it  over  only  make  it  the  more  revolting.  Oh,  if  men  had 
sensibilities,  and  if  they  knew  what  women  thought ! — why 
we  smile  and  flatter  and  stay  on,  in  spite  of  neglect  and 
insult !  " 

She  felt  that,  if  she  should  go  to  Basil,  the  day  would 
come  when  their  love  would  die  of  this  poison  exuding 
from  the  basic  fact  of  their  relations — his  sense  of  his 
rights  because  of  her  dependence;  or,  her  fear  of  losing 
or  impairing  her  living;  or,  her  feeling  that  since  she  took 
bread  she  must  give  body — all  she  had  to  pay  with.  Rich- 
ard thought  he  could  afford  to  be  neglectful;  and  when  it 
suited  him  to  give  passing  attention  to  his  property  again 
— to  walk  in  his  garden  and  eat  a  little  fruit  from  his  tree 
— he  thought  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  If  Richard 
was  thus,  if  all  men  believed  thus,  why  fancy  Basil  an  ex- 
ception? Basil,  in  time,  when  passion  cooled,  would  hold 
her  in  the  same  light  disesteem.  If  a  man  lost  his  virtue, 
even  hypocrisy  did  not  go  beyond  a  half  smiling  shake  of 
the  head;  if  a  woman  lost  her  virtue,  she  was  "ruined." 
Ruined — that  is,  a  worthless  wreck.  "  No,  I  shall  not  go 
to  Basil.  No  doubt,  he  still  cares — in  a  man's  way  of  car- 
ing. But  he  holds  me,  the  unfaithful  wife,  cheap  enough. 
If  I  were  to  lose  reputation  also,  were  to  be  unable  to  give 
him  the  pleasure  of  trespassing  on  another's  property,  were 
to  be  merely  a  ruined  woman,  living  off  him,  he'd  soon  treat 

245 


me  like  the  slave  that  I  am.  No,  I'll  not  change  owners. 
...  If  only  I  had  money !  " 

What,  then?  She  had  seen  all  along  that  she  was  like 
one  sinking  in  the  ooze  of  a  marsh — softly,  inevitably 
toward  suffocation.  "If  I  stay  on  here,  I'll  become  like 
the  rest  of  the  settled,  disillusioned  married  women.  I'll 
become  a  chronic  sloven  and — as  my  disposition  isn't 
toward  fat,  squatted  good  nature — a  shrew.  A  slovenly 
shrew !  "  Why  not  ?  What  had  she  left  to  live  for  ?  In  a 
few  years  Winchie  would  be  away  at  school — then  in  some 
city  at  profession  or  business — and  married  and  out  of  her 
life.  "  I  might  as  well  give  up.  Why  not?  " 

There  seemed  to  be  no  reason.  But  our  conduct  in  its 
main  lines  is  not  governed  by  reason,  but  by  instincts  that 
impel  us  even  against  will.  When  Richard  had  failed  her 
at  the  outset  of  their  married  life,  she  had  sunk;  then  her 
temperament  of  hope  and  energy  had  forced  her  up  again 
in  face  of  deepest  discouragements.  So  now,  while  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  cease  to  sink,  should  begin 
to  struggle,  while  Basil's  announced  engagement  assuring 
a  speedy  marriage  seemed  just  the  thing  to  make  her  sink 
on,  she  began  to  rouse  herself  and  to  look  about  her.  For 
the  second  time  her  longings  and  energies  had  lost  their 
stimulus,  their  inspiration,  their  vitalizing  center.  And  that 
center  is  to  an  unselfish  nature  as  necessary  as  queen  bee 
to  swarm  which  clusters  about  her,  labors  for  her,  and  re- 
news through  her.  With  human  beings  such  as  Courtney 
Vaughan  longings  and  energies  rarely  die  upon  the  corpse 
of  their  inspiration.  After  a  while  they  fly  upward,  as  did 
hers,  and  begin  to  circle  in  search  of  a  new  clustering  cen- 
ter, a  new  reason  for  living  and  working  on.  "  I  can't  stay 
here,"  she  kept  repeating.  "  I  must  go  somewhere.  I  must 
do  something.  Where?  What?"  How  settle  her  life 

246 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

problem  so  that  it  would  be  "  settled  right/'  and  she  could 
have  peace  and  happiness?  She  found  no  answer.  But 
she  kept  on  thrusting  the  question  at  herself.  It  was  as 
significant  of  her  character  as  of  her  trend  of  thought  that 
her  cry  "  If  only  I  had  money!  "  changed  to  "  If  only  I 
I  could  make  money !  " 


XVI 

THEY  were  at  supper,  Dick  reading  the  paper,  Winchie 
busy  with  bowl  of  rice  and  milk,  Courtney  listening  to  the 
storm  that  shrieked  in  baffled  rage  after  each  vain  assault 
upon  the  house.  Her  whole  being  was  quivering  with  the 
pain  that  never  pierced  her  more  acutely  than  when  she 
was  in  the  presence  of  Basil's  vacant  place  at  the  table. 
Winchie,  without  looking  up,  broke  the  silence :  "  We  shan't 
go,  mamma,  shall  we,  unless  it  clears  up?  " 

Dick,  turning  the  paper,  happened  to  hear.  "  Go 
where?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  grandfather's." 

"When?" 

Courtney  said :  "  Winchie  and  I  are  going  to-morrow." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Dick.  "  They'd  think  you  were 
crazy." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  Courtney  replied.  "  Anyhow,  we're 
going." 

"Why?" 

"  I  need  a  change." 

"  Put  it  off  till  spring."  And  he  resumed  the  newspaper 
as  if  the  matter  were  disposed  of. 

"  No.  To-morrow,"  said  she,  not  in  the  least  aggres- 
sively; but  her  tone  was  of  unalterable  determination. 

"  Or,  if  you  must  go  somewhere,  why  not  Saint  X  ?  You 
can  visit  Pauline  Scarborough  or  the  Hargraves — and  bring 
Helen  March  back  with  you." 

"  I  prefer  the  farm." 

He  laid  the  paper  down.     "  You're  not  serious  ?  " 
248 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Quite." 

"  Now,  my  dear — "  he  began.  His  tone  was  one  he  had 
unconsciously  adopted  from  his  grandfather.  He  used  it 
whenever  he,  as  head  of  the  family,  confronted  an  "irra- 
tional, feminine  caprice." 

"  What's  the  use  of  reasoning  with  me  ?  "  interrupted 
she.  "  Didn't  your  grandfather  teach  you  that  women  can't 
reason  ?  " 

"  I'm  willing  for  you  to  go  to  Saint  X.     But " 

She  looked  significantly  toward  Winchie.  Dick  took  the 
hint,  went  back  to  his  reading  until  they  were  alone.  Then 
he  resumed:  "I'm  sure  you'll  not  persist  now  that  I've 
pointed  out  to  you " 

"If  you  wish  me  to  keep  my  temper,"  interrupted  she, 
"  you'll  not  use  that  wheedling  tone.  I'd  feel  I  was  de- 
grading Winchie  by  speaking  to  him  in  a  way  that  belittled 
his  intelligence." 

Dick  looked  astonished.     "  I  had  no  intention " 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  she  appealingly.  "  It  doesn't 
matter.  I  really  don't  care  anything  about  it." 

"  But  you'll  not  go  when  it's  so  clearly  a  folly  to " 

"  I  am  going,"  said  she.  "  You  ought  to  be  grateful 
that  I  have  such  inexpensive  whims.  Most  of  us  silly 
women — "  She  paused,  with  a  lift  of  the  long,  slender 
eyebrows.  How  absurd  to  gird  at  him  whose  opinions  in- 
terested her  as  little  as  hers  interested  him ! 

He  revolved  what  she  had  been  saying,  presently  red- 
dened. "  I  thought  I  had  explained  to  you,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  laboratory  is  very  expensive.  I  know  I  don't  give  you 
much.  I've  had  to  cut  down  the  household  allowance  be- 
cause I  feel  sure  Gallatin  will  be  withdrawing  his  capital. 
But  just  as  soon  as  I " 

She  was  even  of  temper  again.  "  You  remind  me  of 
249 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

old  Hendricks,"  interrupted  she  pleasantly.  "  You  know, 
he  made  three  people  toil  for  him  all  their  lives,  with  no 
pay  and  mighty  poor  board  and  clothes — on  the  promise  of 
a  legacy — and  they  died  before  he  did." 

But  Dick  was  offended.     "  It  seems   to  me,"   said  he, 

"  in  view  of  what  I'm  doing  at  the  shop " 

"  Please  don't,"  she  cried.  "  You're  trying  to  make  me 
out  an  ingrate,  who  doesn't  appreciate  how  you're  toiling 
just  for  wife  and  child.  Now,  what's  the  fact?  Isn't  your 
work  your  amusement?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  like  it,  but " 

"  Weren't  you  doing  the  same  thing  before  you  had  a 
family  ?    Wouldn't  you  be  doing  it  if  you  should  lose  them  ? 
Isn't  it  your  pride  that  you  work  solely  for  love  of  science?  " 
He  looked  disconcerted  assent. 

"  Then  the  fact  is,  you  spend  most  of  your  income  on 
your  own  amusement,  as  much  as  if  you  drank  it." 

He  reflected.  "  That  never  occurred  to  me  before,"  said 
he.  "  Possibly  I  have  viewed  it  too  one-sidedly.  I  must 
think  it  over  and  see." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Pray  don't,  on  my 
account." 

He  made  no  reply,  put  forward  no  further  objections 
to  her  going,  though  the  next  morning  developed  a  driving 
sleet.     As  she  and  Winchie  were  about  to  get  into  the  car- 
riage he  asked :  "  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ?  " 
"  Until  I  feel  better." 

"  If  you  are  ill,  you  must  not  go  in  this  weather." 
She  looked  at  him  strangely.     "  If  I  were  dying  I  should 
go,"  was  her  slow  reply. 

He  hesitated,  studied  her  small,  resolute  face,  her  fever- 
bright  eyes,  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "  I  suppose  it's 
best  to  give  a  woman  her  way  in  her  whims,  so  long  as 

250 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

they're  harmless/'  said  he  aloud,  but  to  himself  rather  than 
to  her.  She  finished  wrapping  up  the  boy,  went  out  to  the 
carriage,  and  got  in.  He  lifted  Winchie  in,  tucked  them 
both  carefully,  bade  them  a  last  good-by,  his  expression 
grave  and  constrained. 

In  those  fifteen  miles  through  the  searching  cold,  over 
roads  like  fields  deep  plowed  and  frozen  hard,  she  de- 
bated how  best  to  carry  out  her  main  purpose  in  going  to 
that  dreary  farm — how  to  take  her  father  partly,  perhaps 
wholly,  into  her  confidence  so  that  she  might  get  his  help — 
for  help  she  must  have.  Her  mother  was  now  impossible 
— quite  demented  on  the  subject  of  religion  latterly  through 
the  long  steeping  of  mind  and  heart  in  a  theology  whose 
heaven  was  hardly  less  formidable  as  an  eternal  prospect 
than  its  hell,  and  whose  hell  was  a  fiery  sea  canopied  by 
shriek  and  stench  of  burning  multitude.  The  old  maid  sis- 
ters had  neither  experience  nor  judgment,  only  bitterness. 
To  them  it  would  be  inconceivable  that  a  married  woman, 
with  a  husband  who  supported  her  in  comfort,  could  be 
other  than  blissfully  happy.  But  her  father —  He  had 
been  a  man  of  affairs,  judge.  He  had  lived  and  read  and 
thought.  She  had  heard  her  mother  rebuke  him  for  ex- 
pressing "  loose  "  opinions ;  probably  he  was  concealing 
opinions  even  more  liberal  and  enlightened  and  humane. 
Perhaps  he  could  give  her  practical  advice — or  at  least  sym- 
pathy. 

But,  arrived  at  the  farmhouse,  she  had  only  to  look  into 
those  four  countenances  to  see  that  she  was  among  people 
who  knew  no  more  of  the  life  of  the  present  day — or  indeed 
of  the  real  life  of  any  day,  even  of  what  they  themselves 
actually  believed  and  felt — than  deep-sea  oysters  in  their 
bed  know  of  Alpine  flowers.  Even  her  father —  In  this 

251 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

remote  desert  he  had  lost  what  knowledge  of  life  he  for- 
merly possessed.  She  was  now  developed  enough  to  real- 
ize that  he  in  fact  never  did  know  much  about  life,  that 
his  was  a  book  education  only.  She  had  journeyed  for 
help  in  vain;  she  was  still  alone,  dependent  wholly  upon 
her  own  courage  and  resource. 

"  Don't  you  wish  we  hadn't  come,  mamma  ? "  said 
Winchie  when  they  were  in  the  room  assigned  them. 

"  No,"  she  replied  truthfully.  She  was  watching  the 
hickory  flames  in  a  calmer  mood  than  she  had  known  for 
weeks;  at  least  she  had  got  away  where  she  could  think, 
could  get  an  outside  point  of  view  upon  the  posture  of  her 
affairs.  "  No,  indeed,"  she  went  on  to  Winchie  leaning 
against  her  knee  and  looking  up  at  her.  "  No,  I  feel  bet- 
ter already." 

"  Then  I  guess  I  can  stand  it,"  said  the  boy  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  don't  know  about  the  hill  where  we  can  coast." 

As  he  had  never  coasted,  this  did  not  lighten  the  im- 
pression made  on  him  by  the  gloomy  farmhouse  sitting  room, 
its  walls  and  ceilings  covered  with  somber  paper,  by  the 
shriveled  grandparents,  with  deep-sunk,  lack-luster  eyes,  by 
the  sharp,  sour  faces  of  the  two  old  maids.  But  next  day, 
when  the  sun  came  out  and  the  farmhands  beat  down  a  track 
on  the  long  hill,  Winchie  found  the  situation  vastly  im- 
proved. Flat  on  her  breast  on  a  sled,  with  the  boy  breath- 
less and  happy  upon  her  back,  she  initiated  him  into  the 
raptures  of  "  belly-buster." 

"  Why,  mamma,  you  look  like  a  little  girl,  not  a  bit 
grown  up,"  cried  he  after  they  had  been  at  it  all  morning 
and  were  tugging  up  the  hill  for  one  last,  magnificent  rush 
down  before  going  home  to  dinner.  And  she  did  indeed 
seem  to  be  a  sister  of  Winchie's,  one  hardly  in  her  teens. 
Of  course,  the  short  skirt  and  her  smallness  of  stature 

252 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

helped.  Bat  it  was  in  her  cheeks,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  curve 
of  her  lips  as  she  showed  her  white  teeth  in  the  happiest  of 
smiles. 

"  I  am  a  little  girl,"  declared  she.  And  before  starting 
out  with  him  after  dinner  she  did  her  hair  in  two  long  braids 
that  hung  below  her  waistline. 

They  coasted  every  day;  they  took  long  sleigh  rides, 
long  romping  walks;  they  hunted  rabbits,  went  fishing 
through  the  ice,  were  uproarious  outside  the  house  and  in — 
the  latter  to  the  scandal  of  the  three  women  of  the  family, 
who  regarded  such  goings-on  as  clearly  forbidden  in  the 
Scriptures.  Even  Sunday  wasn't  so  bad  as  might  have  been 
expected;  for  it  snowed  too  violently  for  Mrs.  Benedict  to 
take  them  to  the  church  where  her  favorite  doctrines  were 
expounded,  and  they  slipped  away  to  the  glorious  outdoors. 
In  a  sheltered  hollow  under  a  shelf  of  rock  they  built  an 
enormous  snow  man,  with  a  top  hat  of  bark.  Tkey  ate  what 
Winchie  regarded  as  the  most  wonderful  meal  of  his  life  at 
the  cottage  of  one  of  the  farmhands.  Never  before  had  he 
seen  such  brown  brownbread  or  such  molassessy  molasses 
or  eaten  off  such  big,  strong  dishes  that  there  wasn't  the 
least  danger  of  breaking,  no  matter  what  you  did  to  them. 
And  he  was  fascinated  by  the  farmhand's  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, both  acting  their  company  best  and  eating  with  the 
little  finger  of  each  hand  stuck  straight  out.  And  in  a  box 
in  the  corner  of  the  room  where  they  ate  was  a  most  excit- 
ing brood  of  little  chickens,  chirping  and  squeaking.  And 
in  the  midst  of  dinner  a  huge,  hairy,  black  dog  suddenly 
snatched  a  piece  of  meat  from  the  farmhand's  plate  and 
retired  to  the  kitchen  with  it.  "  Ain't  he  a  caution  ?  "  said 
the  farmhand,  and  Winchie  thought  he  certainly  was. 

Courtney  was  like  those  who  put  out  to  sea,  leaving  their 
troubles  at  the  one  shore,  not  to  think  of  them  until  they 
17  253 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

touch  the  other.  All  around  were  the  white  hills,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  beyond.  She  abandoned  her  plan  of  study- 
ing her  situation.  She  stopped  thinking;  she  ate  and  slept, 
and  played  with  the  boy,  and  pretended  that  she  was  the 
little  girl  she  looked,  home  from  school  for  the  holidays, 
and  half  hoping  somehow  something  would  happen  so  that 
there  wouldn't  be  any  school  any  more.  She  did  not  think, 
but  she  hoped.  How  ?  What  ?  Where  ?  She  did  not  know ; 
simply  hope,  that  can  burst  the  strongest  grave  despair 
ever  buried  it  in. 

Well  along  in  the  second  week,  toward  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  she  and  Winchie  were  on  the  long  "hill,  round- 
ing out  one  more  happy  day.  She  was  as  happy  as  he. 
When  all  is  lost  save  youth  and  health,  what  is  really  lost? 
She  on  her  breast  on  the  sled  and  he  sprawled  along  her 
back,  his  arms  round  her  neck,  they  shot  down  the  steep 
with  shouts  and  screams.  They  stopped,  all  covered  with 
flying  snow,  in  a  soft  bank  beneath  which  the  zigzag  fence 
was  deep  buried.  They  rolled  in  the  snow,  washed  each 
other's  faces,  stood  up — -were  within  a  few  feet  of  a  man 
in  a  fur-lined  coat  almost  to  his  heels.  They  stared,  as- 
tounded. Then  Winchie's  face  darkened  and  hers  grew 
more  radiant  still  as  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  Basil !  "  she  murmured,  Winchie  forgotten.  "  Oh — 
Basil!  "  And  all  in  that  instant  the  misery  of  those  months 
of  despair  was  gloriously  transformed  into  joy. 

"  Courtney !  "  he  cried.     "  How  beautiful  you  are !  " 

He  was  extraordinarily  handsome  himself  at  that  mo- 
ment. Love  is  a  matchless  beautifier ;  and  if  ever  love  shone 
from  a  human  countenance,  it  was  shining,  irradiating  from 
his  just  then.  With  Winchie  jealously  watchful  they  shook 
hands.  "  Aren't  you  and  Winchie  going  to  speak  to  each 
other  ?  "  she  asked.  And  Basil,  with  reluctance  and  some 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

confusion  held  out  a  hand  which  the  boy  very  hesitatingly 
touched. 

"  I'll  pull  your  sled  to  the  top  for  you,"  Basil  offered. 
"  Get  on,  Winchie." 

The-  boy  planted  his  feet  more  firmly  in  the  snow.  "  We 
were  going  home/'  said  Courtney. 

"  Get  on,  Winchie,"  cried  Basil  friendlily.  "  I'll  haul 
you." 

"  I'm  going  to  walk,"  replied  the  boy  sullenly. 

Courtney  understood.  "  Get  on,  Winchie,"  said  she. 
"  I'll  pull  it." 

The  boy  obeyed.  The  rope  was  long,  so  Basil  felt  free 
to  speak  in  a  lowered  voice.  "  Seeing  you — hearing  you — 
touching  you —  O  my  darling !  my  Courtney !  " 

She  forgot  where  she  was,  who  she  was,  everything  but 
love.  Love !  The  road  danced  before  her.  The  cry  of  the 
chickadees,  the  twitter  of  the  snowbirds,  the  call  of  Bob 
White  from  the  fence  sounded  like  supernal  music  in  her 
ears.  The  blood  tingled  and  dizzied  her  nerves.  Love 
again!  "  You  care — still?  "  she  murmured. 

"  Care?     There's  only  you  for  me  in  all  the  world." 

She  caught  her  breath,  like  the  swinger  at  the  long 
swing's  dizziest  height  when  it  halts  to  begin  the  delirious 
descent.  "  Love !  "  she  murmured.  "  Love !  " 

"  And  I  know  you  love  me,"  he  went  on.  "  I've  never 
doubted — not  once.  I've  tried  to  doubt,  but  I  couldn't.  Up 
before  me  would  come  those  dear  eyes  of  yours,  and — 
Courtney,  there  isn't  a  kiss — or  a  caress — hardly  a  touch 
of  the  hands  you  and  I  have  ever  lived  that  I  haven't  felt 
again  and  again." 

"  Don't !  "  she  pleaded,  her  eyes  swimming.  "  Don't,  or 
I'll  break  down.  My  love — my  love!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me,"  he  went 
255 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

on,  "  if  I  hadn't  known  you'd  send  for  me — yes — in  spite 
of  your  note.  I  expected  it,  for  I  knew  you  wouldn't  be 
able  to  come.  The  more  I  thought,  the  clearer  I  saw.  Not 
to  go  any  further,  there  was  the  boy."  He  glanced  round 
at  Winchie ;  the  angry  gray-green  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him. 
He  glanced  away,  disconcerted.  But  he  forgot  Winchie 
when  his  eyes  returned  to  her.  "  Beautiful !  Beautiful — 
little  girl,"  he  murmured,  his  look  sweeping  her  small,  per- 
fect figure  to  the  edge  of  her  short  skirt.  "  I  like  your  new 
way  of  wearing  your  hair." 

She  blushed.  "  I  did  it  to  make  me  feel  young.  I've 
been  feeling  so  old — old  and  tired  and  lonely." 

"  Thank  God,  you  sent  for  me." 

"  Sent  for  you !  A  hundred  times  a  day  in  thought." 
She  laughed  aloud,  sparkling  like  the  ice-cased  boughs  in 
the  late  afternoon  sun.  "  A  thousand  thousand  times  in 
longing — every  time  my  heart  beat." 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  good  to  be  with  you !  "  He  drew  in  a 
huge  draught  of  the  clean,  cold,  vital  air.  "  Does  the  sun 
anywhere  else  shine  on  such  happiness  as  this?  But  I've 
been  mad  with  happiness  ever  since  the  word  came." 

"  The  word  ?    What  word  ?  " 

"  Vaughan's  letter.     I  knew  you  got  him  to  write  it." 

Courtney  stopped  short.  "  I !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean." 

"  I  got  a  letter  from  him  three  days  ago.  He  asked  me 
to  take  another  quarter  interest  in  his  work — said  he  needed 
the  money,  as  he  found  he'd  been  using  more  of  his  own  in 
it  than  he  could  afford  with  justice  to  his  family " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Courtney  sharply. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Basil. 

She  was  looking  straight  ahead.  "  Nothing — nothing. 
Go  on."  And  she  started  to  walk  again. 

256 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Your  cry  sounded  like  pain." 

"  Did  it?     Go  on." 

"  I  assumed  you  had  at  last  succeeded  in  making  the 
chance  for  me  to  come  back.  So,  I  telegraphed  I'd  accept, 
provided  he'd  let  me  work  with  him  again — and  that  I'd  be 
on  at  once  to  talk  things  over.  I  took  the  first  train — and 
here  I  am." 

"  Yes,  here.     That's  another  mystery  to  explain." 

"  Nothing  simpler.  The  station  man  at  Wenona  told 
me  you  were  visiting  your  father.  I  jumped  at  the  chance. 
I  can  say  I  thought  you  all  were  here.  Anything 
more?  " 

"  I  saw  the  announcement  of  your  engagement." 

"  It's  broken.  I  couldn't  marry  her — couldn't  have  done 
it  in  any  circumstances.  So,  I  gave  her  what  she  was  losing 
by  our  not  marrying.  And  I'm  free.  You  want  me  to 
stay  ?  " 

He  spoke  indifferently  about  the  money  he  had  given 
up,  and  he  evidently  felt  indifferent.  She  would  have  been 
hurt  had  he  acted  otherwise.  At  the  same  time  it  was  a 
measure  of  his  generosity  and  of  his  love,  a  sordid  but  cer- 
tain measure.  She  regarded  that  payment  as  a  sort  of  ran- 
som— his  ransom  for  the  right  to  come  to  her.  "  That  was 
his  price  for  the  right,"  thought  she.  "  He  paid  it  without 
a  second  thought — would  have  paid  any  price.  My  price 
for  the  right  to  be  his  may  be  harder.  But  I  must  pay,  too 
— as  generously  as  he." 

He  was  watching  her  anxiously.  "  Courtney,  I  can't 
go  away !  " 

"  You  mustn't,"  replied  she.  Then  a  reason — the  rea- 
son— the  solution  of  her  life  problem — came  to  her  as  if 
by  inspiration.  "  It's  my  only  chance  to  be  a  good  woman. 
That  sounds  strange,  doesn't  it?  " 

257 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Not  to  me.  I  understand.  If  you  hadn't  sent  for  me 
soon — "  he  checked  himself. 

"  What?  " 

"  You  didn't  know  that  my  coming  here  last  spring — 
and  loving  you — cured  me  of  the  drinking  habit.  I  know, 
it's  stupid  and  disgusting.  I  used  to  loathe  myself  when  I 
gave  way.  But  it's  the  only  resort  in  loneliness.  And  if 
I  realized  that  you  were  lost  to  me,  what  would  I  care  ?  " 

She  nodded  sympathetically.  "  I  was  going  all  to 
pieces,  in  another  way.  I  was  sliding  down  as  fast  as 
Winchie  and  I  were  coasting  the  hill  back  there.  I  was 
going  the  way  of  all  women  who  have  no  love — grown-up 
love — in  their  lives.  I  know  now,  the  reason  I  used  to  -keep 
myself  together  and  built  myself  up  and  looked  after  things 
was  because  I  was  waiting  and  hoping  for  love,  and  was 
expecting  it.  Love  is  all  of  a  woman's  life,  as  things  are 
run  in  this  world — at  present." 

"  And  quite  enough  it  is,  too,"  said  he. 

"  No,"  disagreed  she.  "  But  let  that  pass.  If  I  went 
back  to — to  that  life — alone,  I'd  be  going  to  ruin.  And 
I'd  probably  drag  him  and  Winchie  down  with  me.  A 
woman  of  that  unburied-dead  sort  drags  down  everybody 
about  her.  .  .  .  You've  only  to  look  round,  in  any  station 
of  life,  to  see  those  women  by  the  scores.  Some  few  are 
saved  by  children — not  many  and  they  are  of  a  different 
nature  from  me  —  from  most  women,  I  think.  ...  If  I 
don't  go  back,  I  either  go  to  you  disgraced,  a  shame  to  my 
family,  a  lifelong  stain  on  my  boy  here,  a  miserable,  afraid 
dependent  of  yours.  .  .  .  No,  don't  interrupt;  I've  thought 
it  all  out.  .  .  .  Or,  I'd  plunge  into  a  life  of  social  dissipa- 
tion. If  possible,  that  sort  of  woman  is  worse  for  herself 
and  for  her  husband  and  children  than  the  domestic  rotter. 
A  chattering,  card-playing  gadabout.  Possibly  I  might 

258 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

remain  true  to  my  husband,  but —  If  the  world  weren't 
the  fool  it  is,  it  would  have  discovered  long  ago  that  there 
are  worse  vices  than —  As  always  when  she  forced  her- 
self to  say  frank,  merciless  things,  she  looked  straight  into 
his  eyes  with  defiant  audacity — "  worse  vices  than  ours." 

"  But — "  he  began,  shifting  his  gaze  and  coloring. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is.  Don't  make  any  mistake  about  it.  But 
I  know  lots  of  '  good  '  women — liars,  gossips,  naggers,  petty 
swindlers  of  their  husbands,  envious,  malicious,  spiteful — 
lots  and  lots  of  so-called  good  women  beside  whom  I'd  feel 
white  as  this  snow." 

"  Rather !  "  exclaimed  Basil. 

"  So — if  you'll  go  with  me — I'm  going  home — to  make 
it  a  home — to  be  a  good  mother — to  give  Richard  at  least 
his  money's  worth  in  care  and  comfort  and — "  She  looked 
at  him  with  eyes  suddenly  solemn — "  and  that  is  all,  Basil 
— all.  It's  all  I  can  give  him,  all  he  has  the  right  to.  ... 
I'm  going  home  to  be  a  good  woman,  if  you'll  come  and  be 
there  too." 

"  There's  only  one  life  for  me — to  be  as  near  you  as 
you'll  let  me." 

A  long  silence.  Then  she  again,  sadly :  "  I  don't  know 
how  it  will  work  out.  But — what  else  is  there  for  us? 
We're  not  heroes.  We're  human.  We  must  do  the  best  we 
can.  Together  we  may  survive.  Apart,  I  at  least  will 
perish  —  and  destroy  those  near  me.  I  suppose  I'm  all 
wrong.  But  " — with  a  sigh — "  I'm  doing  the  best  I  can." 

Silence  again.  Then  he,  deeply  moved:  "  I'll  try  to  be 
worthy  of  you,  dear." 

"  Worthy  of  me?  For  God's  sake,  don't  say  those 
things.  There  isn't  any  pedestal  I  wouldn't  fall  off  of  and 
break  to  bits.  .  .  .  Basil — "  wistfully — "  you  don't  care  for 
me  in  j  ust  a  physical  way — do  you,  dear  ?  " 

259 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  care  for  you  in  every  way,"  he  answered.  "  Court- 
ney, I  never  believed  I  could  respect  a  woman  as  I  respect 
you.  You  know,  men  aren't  brought  up  really  to  respect 
women — or  themselves,  for  that  matter." 

"  Then — couldn't  we  try  to — "  She  lowered  her  head, 
faltered — "  couldn't  we  live  as  if  we  were  engaged  only  ?  " 

"  Why  should  we?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  know  it's  only  a  fancy.  But  fancies  count  more 
than  facts.  ...  I'd  feel  less  the — "  She  faltered — paused. 

"  Yes — yes — I  understand.  And —  Well,  it  doesn't  do 
a  man  any  good  to  be  pretending  friendship  and  smiling  in 
another  fellow's  face,  when  all  the  time —  I'll  try,  Court- 
ney—  But — it  won't  be  exactly  easy." 

Her  gaze  burned  for  an  instant  on  his,  then  dropped. 
"  I  should  hope  not !  "  murmured  she. 

They,  absorbed  in  each  other,  moved  so  slowly  along  the 
road  that  Winchie,  silent,  motionless,  sullen,  upon  the  sled 
they  were  trailing  as  far  as  the  rope  permitted,  was  stiff 
with  cold.  But  he  did  not  murmur.  By  the  time  they 
reached  the  door  of  the  farmhouse,  Courtney  and  Basil  had 
it  all  planned.  He  was  to  leave  immediately  after  supper, 
was  to  go  at  once  to  Vaughan,  make  the  arrangements,  re- 
install himself.  She  was  to  come  home  in  three  or  four 
days — unless  Vaughan  sent,  asking  her  to  come  sooner.  He 
dined  with  the  family  at  the  farmhouse,  made  himself  so 
agreeable  that  they  were  all  pleased  with  him — even  sister 
Ann  whose  bitterness  over  her  failure  at  what  she  secretly 
regarded  as  woman's  only  excuse  for  being  alive,  took  the 
unoriginal  disguise  of  aggressive  man-hating.  At  six  o'clock 
he  drove  away  in  the  starlight  with  a  merry  jingling  of 
sleigh  bells  that  echoed  in  Courtney's  happy  heart.  The 
cold  was  intense;  but  she  felt  only  warmth — that  delicious 
•warmth  that  comes  from  within.  She  stood  on  the  litt.l*> 

260 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

front  porch,  with  the  stars  brilliant  above  and  the  snow 
white  and  smooth  over  hill  and  valley.  She  watched  the 
swift  dark  sleigh — listened  to  those  laughing  bells,  their 
music  growing  fainter  and  fainter — but  not  in  her  heart. 
She  was  so  happy  that  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  the 
sobs  in  her  throat.  It  was  for  her  one  of  those  moments 
in  life  when  she  asked  nothing  more,  could  imagine  nothing 
that  would  add  to  j  oy.  Love  again ! — and  oh,  what  exalted 
love,  to  warm  the  heart  and  fill  it  with  light  and  joy,  to 
brighten  every  moment  of  life,  to  guide  her  up  and  ever  up. 
Winchie,  standing  beside  her  and  looking  up  at  her  rapt 
face,  tugged  angrily  at  her  skirts. 


XVII 

WHEN  the  mail  cart  on  the  third  afternoon  failed  to 
bring  a  letter  from  Richard,  she  decided  that  prudence  had 
been  satisfied,  that  she  need  wait  no  longer.  Toward  four 
she  and  Winchie  set  out,  snuggled  deep  in  furs  and  straw 
in  the  rear  of  a  huge  country  sleigh.  The  roads  were  per- 
fect; the  snow  was  like  a  strand  at  low  tide,  rolled  smooth 
and  firm  by  the  broad  tires  of  high  tide's  billows.  The 
big  horses,  steaming  as  if  they  were  engines,  flew  as  if  they 
were  a  wind.  But  her  impatient  heart  was  always  far  ahead, 
fretting  at  their  laggard  pace. 

They  dashed  into  the  outskirts  of  Wenona.  The  jour- 
ney was  ended  except  the  mile  and  a  half  round  the  curve 
of  the  lake.  She  became  all  at  once  serenely  calm.  Life 
— her  real  life — was  now  about  to  begin.  It  was  far  from 
the  life  she  would  have  chosen,  had  she  been  prearranging 
her  own  fate.  However — who  could  live  an  ideal  life  in 
such  a  topsy-turvy  world?  Nature  and  conventionality 
ever  at  war;  right  and  wrong,  not  two  straight  paths,  one 
up,  the  other  down,  but  a  tangle,  a  maze,  a  labyrinth.  One 
must  often  travel  the  path  of  the  wrong  in  order  to  reach 
the  path  of  the  right;  and  keeping  to  the  path  of  the  right 
often  meant  arriving  in  a  hopeless  network  of  blind  alleys 
of  the  wrong.  She  was  in  the  confused  state  about  right 
and  wrong  characteristic  of  this  era  of  transition  that  has 
seen  the  crumbling  of  the  despotism  of  dogma,  and  has 
not  yet  received,  or  created,  a  moral  guidance  to  replace 
it.  "  Life  is  a  compromise,  unless  one  lives  alone  and  mis- 
erably and  uselessly,"  thought  she.  "  My  life's  to  be  a 

262 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

thistle  with  fig  grafts.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  with  it — 
Basil  and  I.  With  him  to  help  me — his  strength  and  char- 
acter and  self-denying  love — with  him  to  help,  all  may 
go  well.  Is  my  compromise — Basil's  and  mine — worse  than 
those  almost  everyone  has  to  make?  If  so,  then  they  ought 
to  educate  women  differently,  and  change  marriage." 

And  when  the  sleigh  reached  the  drive-front  porch, 
making  a  dashing  and  musical  arrival,  she  was  in  a  mood 
of  moral  exaltation  that  might  have  stirred  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  saint — that  is,  a  saint  ignorant  of  the  foundations  of 
that  mood  or  the  processes  by  which  it  had  reared  itself 
skyward.  Saints  who  are  wise  in  the  ways  of  humanity 
do  not  interrogate  too  closely  the  glitter  and  lift  of  moral 
temples;  they  know  humanity  has  only  humble  materials 
with  which  to  build. 

The  doors  opened  wide  and,  in  a  flood  of  bright  warm 
air,  redolent  of  the  perfume  of  flowers,  out  came  Dick  to 
welcome  them.  "  I  am  glad!  "  cried  he.  Because  of  the 
peculiar  relations  long  established  between  them — relations 
such  as  must  exist  in  some  degree  between  a  husband  and 
a  wife  before  the  triangular  situation  can  ever  even  threaten 
— because  of  these  peculiar  relations,  she  had  not  antici- 
pated and  did  not  feel  the  least  embarrassment.  She  was 
not  defying  or  ignoring  her  husband;  she  had  no  husband* 
After  he  swung  Winchie  to  the  porch  he  turned  to  do  the 
same  service  for  her.  But  she  had  quickly  disengaged 
herself  from  the  robes  and  was  standing  beside  him.  He 
looked  into  her  face,  fully  revealed  by  the  pour  of  soft 
light  from  the  hall.  "  Your  trip  certainly  has  done  you 
good,"  said  he. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  she  absently,  presenting  her  left 
cheek  for  the  necessary  formality  of  the  occasion.  Her 
attention  was  wholly  elsewhere. 

263 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

In  the  hall  before  her  there  had  appeared  two  people, 
hanging  back  discreetly,  so  that  they  would  not  intrude 
upon  the  family  reunion.  Basil,  she  expected.  The  woman 
beside  him  so  astonished  her  that  she  forgot  to  be  glad  to 
see  him.  Who  was  she?  This  tall,  slender  girl  with  the 
proud,  regular  features,  the  attractively  done  dark  hair, 
the  big,  honest  brown  eyes?  She  glanced  at  Basil,  stand- 
ing beside  this  lovely  girl  and  making  a  laughing  remark; 
her  feminine  sight  instantly  noted  how  the  remark  was 
received  by  the  girl — the  flattering  glance  and  smile  a 
marriageable  woman  rarely  wastes  upon  anything  from  one 
of  her  own  sex  or  from  an  ineligible  man.  And  through 
Courtney  shot  a  pang  that  dissolved  her  structure  of 
moral  uplift  as  a  needle  thrust  collapses  a  toy  balloon. 
Who  was  this  woman? — this  young  woman — this  tall 
woman — this  handsome  woman — so  pleased  with  Basil 
Gallatin  ? 

"  Aren't  you  surprised  to  find  Helen  March  here  ?  " 
Dick  was  now  saying. 

Helen  March!  So,  that  scrawny,  raw-boned  girl,  all 
freckles  and  pimples,  and  unable  to  manage  her  mouth, 
the  Helen  March  she  had  seen  three  years  before  and 
had  not  seen  since — so,  that  prim  and  homely  gawk  had 
developed  into  this  stately  creature!  Prim,  still — unless 
that  expression  was  the  familiar  maidenly  pose  to  attract 
wife  hunters.  But  certainly  neither  homely  nor  awkward. 
She  even  dressed  her  hair  well,  and  wore  her  clothes  with 
quite  an  air.  All  this  Courtney  saw  and  felt  and  thought 
in  a  few  twinklings  of  an  eye — for  in  such  circumstances 
a  woman's  mind  works  with  the  rapidity  of  genius,  and 
with  genius's  grasp  of  essential  detail.  Helen  was  ad- 
vancing. 

"  Don't  you  recognize  me,  Courtney  ?  "  she  asked.  The 
264 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

voice  was  one  of  those  honest,  pleasant  voices  that  disarm 
the  most  cynical  pessimists  about  human  nature — the  voice 
that  makes  the  blase  city  man  fall  to  dreaming  of  taking  a 
country  girl  to  wife. 

"  Now  I  do,  of  course/'  said  Courtney  sweetly.  And 
the  two  embraced  and  kissed. 

To  do  this,  Helen  had  to  bend,  as  she  was  more  than 
a  head  the  taller.  She  bent  with  not  a  suggestion  of  con- 
descension in  manner  or  in  thought.  Nevertheless  Court- 
ney, for  the  first  time  in  her  life  painfully  sensitive  about 
her  stature,  flamed  and  was  resentful — and  in  her  scorn  of 
her  own  pettiness  felt  tinier  within  than  without.  True, 
Helen's  figure  was  commonplace,  the  bust  too  high  and 
ominously  large  for  her  age,  the  hips  already  faintly 
menacing,  the  waist  and  arms  somewhat  too  short  for  the 
great  length  of  leg.  True,  her  own  figure  was — certainly 
better.  Still,  Helen  had  that  advantage  of  height — could 
look  at  Basil  level-eyed,  could  make  her  seem — short !  And 
this  Helen  here  to  stay  indefinitely! 

There  was  pathos  in  the  slow,  sweet  smile  Courtney 
gave  Basil  as  their  trembling  hands  met  in  what  seemed 
to  the  others  a  formal  greeting.  She  turned  away  with 
a  sigh.  Just  as  she,  the  thirsty,  the  desert-bound,  was  all 
ready  to  rush  forward  and  drink — the  mirage  vanished. 
Was  it  to  be  always  so?  Was  life  to  be  ever  a  succession 
of  mirages,  vanishing  at  approach,  only  to  reappear  and 
revive  hope — and  cheat  again?  Through  her  mind  flashed 
the  memory  of  the  first  one — an  indelible  memory,  always 
for  her  symbolic  of  vain  expectation:  A  fourth  of  July 
when  she  was  a  very  small  child — how  she  awakened  at 
sunrise,  rushed  to  the  window  to  find  sky  clear  and  world 
radiant  and  ready  for  the  picnic  that  was  to  be  her  first 
great  positive  joy;  how  she  was  dressed  in  her  best,  in 

265 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

wonderful  new  white  frock,  in  white  stockings  and  shoes 
and  white  bows  covering  the  top  buttons,  shimmering  sash 
of  pale  green,  and  bows  of  pale  green  on  her  braids;  how, 
just  as  she  descended  in  all  her  glory  to  issue  forth,  down 
came  the  rain — in  floods — and  no  picnic,  nothing  but  stay 
at  home  all  day  and  weep  and  watch  the  downpour.  "  It 
was  my  horoscope,"  thought  she,  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
hall  too  sad  for  bitterness  over  her  spoiled  home-coming. 
"  Is  it  fate  ?  Or,  is  it  somehow  my  fault  ?  My  fault,  I 
suppose.  I  must  be  asking  of  life  something  no  one — at 
least,  no  woman — has  the  right  to  expect." 

She  was  near  the  library  door,  with  Winchie  on  its 
threshold  staring  round  big-eyed  and  crying,  "  Oh,  mamma 
Courtney.  Look !  "  His  eyes  were  no  more  wondering 
than  her  own.  She  had  been  too  disheartened  to  make  the 
library  over  into  a  conservatory  that  year;  now,  here  it 
was  transformed  into  a  conservatory — the  carpet  up  from 
the  hardwood  floor,  plants  beautiful  for  bloom  or  for 
foliage  or  for  both  in  boxes,  in  jars,  in  pots — everywhere. 
A  conservatory  like  that  of  former  years,  but  more  elabo- 
rate. 

The  others  were  laughing  and  watching  her  face.  So 
she  exclaimed  "  I  am  surprised !  "  in  the  indefinite  tone 
the  listener  can  easily  adapt  to  his  expectations.  But  she 
was  not  pleased — far  from  it.  Another  fierce  pang  of 
jealousy.  She,  modest  about  her  own  abilities,  did  not 
realize  that  the  room  lacked  just  the  finishing  touch  of  her 
exquisite  taste.  To  her  it  seemed  better  far  than  she 
could  have  done.  Why,  she  hadn't  been  needed,  or  missed 
even !  Things  went  on  as  well  in  her  absence  as  when  she 
was  here.  And  near  her,  side  by  side,  were  Basil  and 
Helen — how  she  could  feel  them! — so  well  matched  phys- 
ically— and  he  fair,  she  dark.  And  Courtney  had  not  that 

266 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

self-complacent,  satisfied  vanity  which  shelters  so  many  of 
us  from  any  and  all  misgivings  and  doubts. 

"  Helen  did  most  of  it,"  explained  Vaughan.  "  She's 
a  trump,  you'll  find.  Look  out,  Helen,  or  we'll  make  you 
do  all  the  work." 

'r  Cousin  Dick  proposed  it  and  really  carried  it  out," 
protested  Helen  in  her  school-teacherish  or  collegiate 
speech  and  manner.  "  And  Mr.  Gallatin  was  invaluable 
in  showing  us  how  you  had  it  last  winter.  We  wanted  to 
get  it  exactly  the  same." 

Courtney  turned  brilliant,  grateful  eyes  on  Basil.  "  So, 
you  remembered,  did  you?  "  she  ventured  to  say,  sure  her 
meaning  and  her  tone  would  pass  the  others  safely. 

Basil  flushed.     "  You  can  judge  for  yourself,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  so  overcome  I  don't  know  what  to  say."  Their 
smiling,  friendly  faces,  all  bent  upon  her,  made  her  natu- 
ral generosity  burst  forth  like  April's  unending  green  at 
the  first  warmth  of  the  sun.  Her  eyes  filled.  "  Thank 
you — thank  you  all !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  so — so — happy !  " 
And  she  kissed  Helen  again,  ashamed  of  her  mean  im- 
pulses toward  one  whose  aloneness  and  poverty  commanded 
kindness  and  consideration  and  help  from  another  woman, 
especially  from  a  woman  who  had  known  the  bitterness 
of  dependence  and  aloneness. 

Good  sense  and  decent  instincts,  having  driven  off  jeal- 
ousy, held  the  field — not  without  occasional  alarms  and 
excursions,  but  still  decisively.  It  was  the  merriest  party 
that  had  gathered  about  the  mahogany  dining-room  table 
since  Colonel  'Kill  imported  it  from  beyond  the  moun- 
tains, along  with  sundry  novelties  in  those  parts,  in  that 
early  day — carpets  and  curtains  and  window  glass,  wall 
paper  and  carved  beds  and  crystal  chandeliers.  In  Colo- 
nel 'Kill's  time  the  atmosphere  had  been  genial  but  austere; 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Aunt  Eudosia,  during  her  brief  reign  between  his  death  and 
her  own,  had  maintained  his  traditions  reverently;  and 
Courtney  had  struggled  not  altogether  with  success,  though 
bravely  and  resolutely,  against  the  atmosphere  that  lingered 
on  after  all  her  brightening  changes.  But  that  night,  the 
spell  was  broken.  Dick  put  aside  his  chemistry;  Basil  and 
Courtney  forgot  him  and  their  burden  of  deceit.  Helen 
belied  her  mourning  which,  as  Courtney  had  shrewdly 
guessed,  was  mere  formality  anyhow.  Everyone  was  gay, 
even  jealous  little  Winchie,  devoting  himself  to  Helen,  de- 
termined to  make  her  love  him.  And  Courtney  was  gayest 
of  all;  was  not  that  vacant  place  at  the  table  filled  once 
more?  Her  heart  overflowed  with  joy  and  her  lips  and 
eyes  with  laughter  each  time  she  looked  in  that  direction 
and  saw — him!  Everyone  was  gay  except  old  Nanny, 
listening  sourly  to  the  merriment  that  came  through  door 
and  hall  into  kitchen  and  sounded  like  a  burst  from  a 
ballroom  whenever  Lizzie  was  passing  in  or  out.  "  Poor 
young  man !  "  muttered  Nanny  to  her  dishes  and  pans. 
"  If  he  only  knowed  the  whited  sepulchre  he's  living  amidst, 
what  a  holocaust  there'd  be."  She  did  not  know  what  holo- 
caust meant,  having  got  merely  its  vague  sense  from  a  ser- 
mon; thus,  it  gave  her  a  conception  of  anarchy  and  chaos 
far  beyond  the  scope  of  words  she  understood. 

Courtney's  emerald  eyes,  dancing  and  laughing  though 
they  were,  scrutinized  Basil.  Not  that  she  really  sus- 
pected him;  she  simply  wished  to  fortify  herself  against 
the  folly  and  the  unhappiness  of  suspicion — as  women  look 
under  a  bed  before  getting  into  it.  Having  fortified  her- 
self, she  concentrated  on  Helen — Helen,  the  homeless,  the 
unmarried,  the  eager  to  be  married.  There  the  results  of  her 
scrutiny  were  not  so  satisfactory.  Basil  would  have  called 
Helen's  manner  mere  civility;  and  perhaps,  in  strict  jus- 

268 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

tice,  it  was  nothing  more.  But  Courtney  the  woman,  judg- 
ing Helen  the  woman,  saw  the  hidden  truth  beneath  the 
surface  truth — saw  that  Helen  was  not  without  an  instinct 
for  a  possible  customer  for  the  virtue  so  carefully  nurtured 
against  the  coming  of  an  opportunity  for  it  to  expand  in 
the  garden  of  matrimony  with  the  flower  and  leaf  and  fruit 
of  wife  and  mother.  Courtney  judged  fairly,  conceded  that 
Helen  was  the  reverse  of  forward,  was  using  no  arts,  no 
subtleties.  But  the  candidate  for  matrimony  showed  in 
her  charmingly  receptive  and  appreciative  attitude  toward 
the  young  man.  The  danger  which  Courtney  foresaw  and 
feared  lay  in  the  fact  that  Basil  and  Helen  were  both 
attractive.  To  Courtney  it  seemed  a  question  of  a  very 
brief  time  when,  without  any  effort  whatever  on  her  part, 
Helen  must  fall  in  love  with  him.  What  then?  A  well- 
bred,  pretty  woman  in  love  is  always  more  and  ever  more 
attractive  to  the  man  she  centers  upon.  And  Helen  was 
free — and  could  be  honorable  throughout! 

As  Courtney  undressed  for  bed,  these  reflections,  so 
forbidding  of  aspect,  faced  her  whichever  way  she  turned. 
"  I  like  Helen,"  she  thought,  "  and  it's  decent  and  right 
to  give  her  a  home.  If  I  were  what  I  ought  to  be — ought 
to  try  to  be — I'd  give  her  every  opportunity  to  win  Basil. 
She's  got  to  have  some  one  to  support  her.  I'm  provided 
for.  It's  mean  of  me  to  stand  in  her  way."  She  found 
some  cheer  in  the  reflection  that,  while  most  women  would 
straight  off  hate  Helen  and  look  on  her  as  an  impudent 
interloper,  she  herself  had  generosity  enough  to  be  just 
in  thought  at  least.  "  But  I'm  human,"  said  she.  "  Helen 
has  got  to  go.  She  doesn't  love  him.  I  do.  She  doesn't 
need  him.  I  do.  She's  got  to  go !  " 

It  was  her  habit  to  sit  on  the  rug  before  the  fire  in  her 
sitting  room,  and  do  her  hair  for  the  night;  then  she  would 
18  269 


sometimes  stretch  'herself  out  flat  upon  her  breast  and  read 
by  the  fire  light  or  watch  it  and  dream  or  think.  She  was 
lying  that  way,  head  pillowed  upon  a  book  and  face  toward 
the  fire,  when  Dick  opened  the  door,  glanced  in,  entered. 
So  absorbed  was  she  that  she  did  not  know  he  was  in  the 
room  until  he  spoke. 

"  It's  like  what  Nanny  would  call  a  special  providence, 
isn't  it?  "  said  he,  seating  himself  on  the  sofa  parallel 
to  the  fireplace  but  well  back  from  it.  He  had  a  long 
dressing  gown  over  his  pajamas  and  was  smoking  a  last 
cigarette. 

"  Special  providence  ?  What  ?  "  inquired  she  without 
turning  her  head.  His  entrance  had  not  interrupted  her 
train  of  thought.  Her  answer  was,  as  usual,  a  reflex  action 
from  her  surface  mind. 

"  Why,  Basil's  coming  back." 

No  reply.  She  was  not  thinking  of  Dick's  statement 
of  Basil's  return  as  coming  from  him  but  as  if  she  had 
herself  begun  to  revolve  it  of  her  own  accord. 

"  And   Helen's  being  here." 

A  restless  shiver.  She  was  unconscious  of  Dick's  pres- 
ence. She  was  gazing  absorbed  at  the  proposition:  Helen 
is  here. 

"  It's  just  as  we  wanted  it,"  he  went  on. 

The  lithe,  delicately  formed  body  grew  tense.  "  Speak 
for  yourself,"  she  said  curtly. 

Richard  received  this  rebuff  in  silence.  "  I  know  you 
don't  like  Basil,"  said  he  at  length.  "  And,  it's  true  he 
was  a  tank  and  a  tear-about  at  college " 

There  he  stopped,  shamefaced.  He  forgot  he  had  told 
her  about  Basil;  he  felt  it  was  undignified  and  unworthy 
gossip — now  that  he  had  matrimonial  designs  upon  him. 
"  That  slipped  out,"  he  said  to  her  apologetically.  "  I 

270 


THE   HUNGRY    HEART 

never  intended  to  tell  you.  Anyhow,  he  has  dropped  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  don't  believe  he'Jl  ever  turn  loose 
again.  ...  I  wonder  why  that  girl  broke  the  engagement. 
He  tells  me  he's  free,  and  I  suspect  he  wanted  to  come 
back  because  he's  pretty  badly  cut  up.  .  .  .  You  will  be 
nice  to  him,  Courtney? — and  help  him  and  Helen  along? 
They  were  intended  for  each  other — height — contrast  of 
coloring " 

Courtney  sat  up  impatiently,  turned  her  back  to  the  fire 
to  warm  it,  clasped  her  knees  in  her  arms.  She  was  con- 
scious of  him  now,  vaguely,  unpleasantly  conscious,  though 
the  ideas  he  had  suggested  still  held  most  of  her  atten- 
tion. Gradually  she  became  uncomfortable;  no,  it  was 
not  the  cold.  Her  wandering  glance  happened  upon  Rich- 
ard's face.  His  expression —  That  was  it!  Not  cold, 
but  the  sense  of  being  looked  at  by  eyes  that  had  not  the 
right.  She  blushed  furiously  from  head  to  feet,  had  an 
impulse  to  snatch  the  rug  about  her  and  dart  from  the 
room. 

"  You  are — beautiful!  "  he  exclaimed,  rising.  "  I  was 
just  contrasting  you  with  Helen  March  this  evening.  She's 
undoubtedly  handsome.  Has  height,  and  go,  and,  for  a 
girl,  really  a  surprising  amount  of " 

Courtney  was  not  listening.  She  was  thinking  of  her 
oversight  in  not  locking  her  doors  into  the  hall. 

"  Of  charm — aside  from  the  freshness  that's  about  all 
there  is  to  most  girls,  I  imagine." 

She  must  be  careful  not  to  irritate  him,  not  to  rouse 
him  to  the  vigilance  that  nothing  can  escape.  What  a 
luckless  beginning  of  a  new  life! 

"  And  you're  so  well  now — so  alive " 

"  I'm  all  but  dead,"  she  declared,  pretending  a  yawn. 
"  I  must  go  to  bed."  She  sprang  lightly  up.  "  Good 

271 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

night,"  she  said.  And  to  take  away  the  sting — for,  his 
slight  wince  showed  her  there  was  sting — she  stood  on 
tiptoe,  hands  behind  her  and  face  upturned. 

His  lips  touched  her  cheek  hesitatingly;  fired  by  the 
contact,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She  did 
not  draw  away;  an  instinct  of  prudence,  not  a  deliberate 
thought,  restrained  her.  She  flushed  from  head  to  foot, 
her  modesty  wounded,  her  pride  abased.  "  Good  night," 
said  he,  lingeringly. 

"  Good  night,"  she  echoed,  turning  away  to  screen  the 
fire. 

Half  an  hour  later  all  the  lights  in  the  house  were  out. 
She  had  gone  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  She  suddenly  sat 
up,  gazed  eagerly  toward  the  window  giving  on  the  small 
veranda.  It  was  open  for  the  night;  the  shutters  were 
latched,  however,  and  through  them  came  intensely  cold 
air  and  some  faint  light.  She  thought  she  heard  a  tap- 
ping at  the  shutter — that  shutter  she  had  so  often  thrown 
wide  in  the  hope  that  Basil  had  secretly  returned.  She 
listened.  After  a  long  wait,  again  the  tapping — so  soft 
that  only  the  attention  of  an  expectant  listener  would  have 
been  attracted. 

"  Basil !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  must  have  been  expecting 
him." 

She  was  about  to  dart  to  the  window  when  there  came 
a  thought  like  a  blow  in  the  face  flinging  her  back  and 
making  her  cover  her  head.  First  the  one  man;  now  the 
other.  "  God !  "  she  muttered.  "  How  they  will  degrade 
me,  between  them." 

No,  it  should  not  be !  She  grew  angry  with  Basil.  At 
the  first  opportunity,  breaking  his  promise,  trying  to  tempt 
her  to  become  what  he  could  not  but  despise.  That  was 
what  he  called  love!  And  how  poorly  he  must  think  of 

272 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

her !  .  .  .  She  uncovered  her  head,  listened.  No  repeti- 
tion of  the  sound.  She  ran  to  the  window,  opened  the 
shutter.  No  one !  Yes — the  snow  on  the  rail  had  been 
disturbed.  She  leaned  out.  Snow — the  black  boughs — the 
biting  midnight  air — stars — the  crescent  moon  with  a 
pendant  planet — the  distant  muffled  sound  of  a  horse  stamp- 
ing in  its  stall.  She  closed  the  shutter,  went  shivering 
back  to  bed — heartsick  with  disappointment. 


XVIII 

WHEN  she  at  last  went  to  sleep  it  was  like  a  ship  going 
down  in  a  storm.  But  she  slept  nine  hours  without  a 
dream;  and  she  awakened  in  that  buoyant  mood  with  which 
perfect  health  of  body  will  triumph  over  whatever  heavi- 
ness of  soul.  Her  troubles  seemed  largely  fanciful,  were 
certainly  anticipatory;  she  would  push  steadily  forward, 
and  all  would  be  well. 

When  she  descended,  the  two  men  had  breakfasted  and 
gone,  and  Winchie  was  out  on  the  lawn  playing  at  snow 
man  with  the  Donaldson  children  and  their  governess. 
Helen,  still  at  table  with  coffee  and  newspaper,  greeted 
her  so  honest  of  eye  and  of  voice  that  she  was  altogether 
ashamed  of  her  thoughts  of  evening  and  night  before. 
Also,  Helen  did  not  look  especially  well  in  the  mornings. 
Sleep  swelled  her  face,  her  eyelids;  her  skin  inclined  to 
be  cloudy;  her  hair  hung  rather  stringily  about  her  brow. 
And  in  negligee  the  defect  of  too  much  bust  and  too  short 
waist  seemed  worse  than  it  was.  "  I  must  see  that  she 
gets  a  proper  corset,"  thought  Courtney.  "  Like  so  many 
women,  she  doesn't  realize  that  corset  is  three  fourths  of 
the  battle  for  figure."  She  studied  Helen  with  an  artist's 
eye  and  an  artist's  enthusiasm  for  bringing  out  the  best, 
the  beautiful.  "  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  Helen  can 
be  made  a  perfect  wonder  for  looks.  I  must  try  it."  And 
then  she  knew  she  had  never  really  intended  to  send  Helen 
away.  She  who  had  suffered  so  much  from  the  tyranny 
of  dependence — it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  exercise 
that  tyranny  over  another.  "  I  don't  want  to  send  her 

274 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

away.      But  if  I  did  want  to,  I   couldn't,  no  matter  what 
happened.     I  might  think  I  would,  and  try  to  compel  my- 
self to  do  it.     But  when  it  came  to  the  pinch,  I'd  remember 
— and  I  couldn't.     No  other  human  being  shall  ever  know  v 
through  me  the  sort  of  humiliation  I  bear." 

She  was  ashamed  of  her  fears  about  Basil,  too.  "  As 
if  he  hadn't  known  lots  of  women.  As  if  our  love  were 
just  the  ordinary  thing  that  passes  for  love.  And  Helen'll 
help  brighten  things  up — this  house  must  not  and  shall 
not  be  gloomy."  Then  too — and  this  idea  she  did  not 
definitely  express  to  herself — Helen  would  give  her  and 
Basil  more  freedom  by  pairing  off  with  Richard  when 
they  were  all  together. 

Still  more  cheering  were  the  thoughts  that  came  from 
her  mail.  From  the  bank's  monthly  statement  she  learned 
that  Richard  had  for  the  first  time  fixed  an  allowance  suf- 
ficient for  the  position  she  was  expected  to  maintain. 
There  is  a  minimum  amount  on  which  a  family  can  live  in 
a  certain  style;  every  dollar  below  that  means  pinch,  every 
dollar  above  it  luxury.  Courtney  had  at  times  been  hard 
put  to  keep  from  going  into  debt.  Many  a  woman,  bred 
as  she  had  been,  as  most  American  women  are — with  small 
practical  knowledge,  with  only  the  silly  useless  "  educa- 
tion "  the  usual  school  and  college  give,  with  no  notion  of 
values  or  mistaken  notions,  with  contempt  for  realities  and 
reverence  for  inanities — has  in  the  same  circumstances  be- 
come hopelessly  involved.  But  whatever  the  shortcomings 
in  Mrs.  Benedict's  system  of  bringing  up  her  children,  she 
had  certainly  inculcated  a  horror  of  debt.  And  as  human 
life  and  character  are  grounded  upon  material  things  if 
they  have  any  substantial  foundation  at  all,  this  dread  of 
debt  had  been  and  continued  to  be  one  of  the  main  factors 
in  Courtney's  development.  It  is  amazing  how  far  a  sin- 

275 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

gle  cardinal  real  principle,  such  as  a  fixed  aversion  to  debt, 
will  go  toward  keeping  any  human  being  straight,  toward 
bringing  them  back  to  sense  of  the  just  and  the  right, 
when  they  have  been  swerved  by  emotion  or  irresistible 
gale  of  circumstance.  But  in  human  affairs  all  the  truly 
great  powers  are  forces  so  quiet  and  move  so  close  to  the 
ground  that  their  existence  is  unsuspected;  or  if  pointed 
out,  it  is  denied  and  scouted,  and  some  windy  fake  of 
philosophy  or  politics  or  superstition  is  hailed  as  the  god 
in  the  machine.  Instead  of  going  into  debt  and  playing 
the  "  refined,  cultured  lady,"  Courtney  had  set  about  learn- 
ing to  economize  without  privation  or  meanness  or  tawdry 
pretense,  acquiring  the  supreme  art  of  living — the  getting 
of  its  full  value  for  every  dollar.  It  had  been  a  hard 
schooling;  she  began  to  realize  how  valuable,  how  inval- 
uable. With  this  additional  allowance  Richard  was  now 
making,  she  saw  what  wonders  of  improvement  she  could 
work — she  who  had  been  getting  out  of  the  smaller  income 
what  many  women  in  Wenona,  spending  four  and  five  times 
as  much,  had  not  got.  Certainly,  the  sky  was  brightening. 

"  If  you  haven't  taken  a  dislike  to  me,"  Helen  was 
saying,  "  and  are  going  to  let  me  stay  a  while,  I'll  make 
myself  useful.  In  fact,  I'll  not  stay  if  I  don't.  I  must 
pay  my  way,  and  I  can't  pay  in  money." 

"  Whatever  you  like,"  said  Courtney,  "  if  you'll  only 
stay.  We  want  you.  We  need  you." 

Helen  never  forgot  the  warmth  that  cordial  genuine 
tone  sent  through  her.  She  didn't  try  to  put  her  thanks 
into  words,  for  there  are  no  words  for  such  real  and  deep 
feeling.  She  simply  looked  at  Courtney — a  look  that  more 
than  rewarded  her.  After  a  moment  she  went  on  in  an 
unsteady  voice,  "  I  could  help — with  Winchie.  I  took  a 
course  in  kindergarten  work  at  Tecumseh — and  in  house- 

276 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

keeping,  too.  They  really  teach  things — real  things — there. 
Then,  I  sew  beautifully — the  finest  kind  of  sewing." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Courtney,  looking  at  the  sacque  Helen 
was  wearing.  She  did  not  like  the  sacque,  because  she  did 
not  like  flummery  and  elaboration — and  Helen  had  the 
poor  girl's  weakness  for  both.  But  she  did  admire  the 
quality  of  the  work  that  had  been  put  into  it. 

"  You  must  let  me  do  some  sewing  for  you.  Do  you 
like  fine  underclothes  ?  " 

"  Crazy  about  them." 

"  I  knew  you  were,"  said  Helen  who,  judging  by  Court- 
ney's dress  and  light  way  of  talking,  had  already  clearly 
and  finally  made  up  her  mind  that  the  verdict  of  "  serious 
people  "  as  to  her  cousin  was  just — a  sweet,  light,  pretty 
creature,  fond  of  dress  and  all  the  frivolities.  "  Just  you 
wait!  Mrs.  Hargrave  up  at  our  town  brought  back  some 
things  from  Paris — perfectly  wonderful !  All  the  women 
were  excited  about  them.  Well,  I  know  how  to  make  them 
— and  where  the  goods  can  be  got.  Not  expensive,  either." 

"  I'll  get  the  material,"  said  Courtney,  "  and  you  can 
make  some  for  both  of  us." 

"  Then  I  took  a  course  in  fitting.  Don't  judge  by  the 
things  I  wear.  I  somehow  can't  fit  myself." 

"  It's  the  corset,"  said  Courtney. 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  could  never  afford  to  have  them 
made — or  to  buy  the  best  ready-made  kind.  But  I  can 
do  well  for  others.  I  can  teach  your  dressmaker  how  to 
behave  herself.  That'll  save  you  a  lot  of  time  and  worry, 
won't  it?  " 

"  And  work.  Now,  I  have  to  remake  most  of  my 
things." 

Courtney  began  to  respect  Helen.  The  evening  before, 
the  girl,  bent  upon  making  a  favorable  impression,  had 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

been  a  wholly  different  person.  She  had  seemed  to  Court- 
ney stuffed  to  bursting  with  the  familiar,  everj^where  ad- 
mired and  nowhere  admirable  "  idealism "  that  chokes 
thought  with  cant  and  cumbers  action  with  pretense.  She 
had  displayed  a  disquieting  fondness  for  the  "  cultured  " 
drivel  about  art  and  literature,  about  morals  and  manners, 
that  destroys  sincerity  and  simplicity's  strength,  and  cre- 
ates the  doleful  dreary  lack  of  individuality  characteristic 
of  the  so-called  educated  classes  throughout  the  world. 
Courtney  had  always  had  the  courage  to  confess  that  these 
honored  frauds  seemed  to  her  ridiculous  and  wearisome. 
She  assumed  that  Richard's  and  Basil's  admiring  atten- 
tion, as  Helen  "  showed  off  "  after  the  manner  of  young 
girls,  was  politeness — or  tribute  to  Helen's  good  looks. 
Now  that  she  had  discovered  real  virtues  in  Helen,  she  was 
not  alarmed;  for,  she  had  learned  that  men  are  not  inter- 
ested in  such  virtues  in  young  women  but  only  in  surface 
charms  that  stimulate  their  sex  illusions.  "  It'd  take  a 
man  who  had  been  married  at  least  once  to  appreciate 
Helen,"  thought  she. 

By  the  time  Courtney  finished  breakfast,  she  had  ex- 
plained her  plans  and  Helen  had  made  many  intelligent 
suggestions.  They  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  work.  The 
morning  flew,  dinner  was  ready  before  they  had  given  it 
a  thought.  Yes,  Helen  was  a  genuine  addition,  was  just 
what  she  needed.  "  Yet  I've  no  doubt  Basil'll  think  her 
stupid  once  he  gets  used  to  her  beauty  and  her  sweetly 
pretty  romantic  pose  for  the  matrimonal  game." 

Dick  and  Basil  came,  and  the  merry  party  of  the  night 
before  was  repeated.  Courtney  noted  with  pleasure  that 
Dick  and  Helen  had  taken  a  fancy  to  each  other.  Without 
her  realizing  it,  this  was  a  thorough  test  of  her  absolute 
apartness  from  him;  for,  many  a  woman  who  is  not  in 

218 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

love  with  her  husband,  who  actively  dislikes  him,  will  yet 
be  furiously  jealous  of  him — and  by  no  means  entirely 
from  the  sordid  motive  of  fear  lest  his  being  attracted 
elsewhere  will  end  in  lessening  her  own  portion  of  the 
income.  Dick  showed  that  he  thought  Helen,  tall  of  stat- 
ure and  serious  looking,  an  appreciative  listener  to  his  dis- 
courses on  chemistry;  and  Helen's  manner  was  indeed  well 
calculated  to  deceive — a  man.  After  dinner  Dick  led  her 
up  to  his  study  further  to  explain  some  things  they  had 
been  discussing.  Winchie  hurried  away  to  resume  play 
with  the  Donaldsons,  their  governess  having  come  for  him 
— and  Courtney  and  Basil  were  free. 

"  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true,"  said  Basil.  "  How 
much  better  this  is — in  every  way — than  what  we've  been 
condemning  each  other  to.  ...  Courtney,  I  did  a  very 
indiscreet  thing  last  night.  I  came  to  your  window — 
climbed  up  by  a  ladder  Jimmie  had  forgotten  to  lock  up 
in  the  woodshed." 

Courtney,  rosy  red,  lowered  her  head. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you're  angry.  I'll  never  do  it  again. 
When  we  have  such  happiness  as  this,  we  must  do  noth- 
ing— nothing — to  endanger  it.  And  I  want  to  say,  you 
were  right  about — about  what's  best  for  us.  The  very 
resolve  to  try  has  made  everything  seem  entirely  different. 
I'm  not  ashamed  when  I  look  at  Richard.  I  can  meet  his 
eyes.  And  with  your  help  I  think  I  can  wait  patiently — 
and  hope !  .  .  .  Don't  you  think  it  possible  those  two 
might  fall  in  love  ?  " 

She  was  startled,  then  fascinated  by  the  idea.  "  Why 
not?  If  they  only  would!  " 

"  It's  just  possible — barely  possible."  They  sat  silent, 
reflecting  on  this  new  hope.  Presently  Basil  went  on, 
"  They're  both  very  serious  minded.  And  Miss  March 

279 


would  be  a  real  companion  for  him.  She's  thoroughly  in- 
tellectual, has  quite  a  remarkable  mind — more  like  a 
man's." 

At  "intellectual"  Courtney  thought  he  was  joking. 
She  began  to  smile,  rather  reluctantly — for,  she  did  not 
like  to  laugh  at  so  sweet  and  honest  a  girl  as  Helen,  even 
with  one  so  near  to  her,  so  like  another  self.  Then  his 
expression  warned  her  that  he  was  in  earnest,  that  he 
really  regarded  Helen's  "  cultured  "  conversation  as  an  in- 
dication of  intelligence,  did  not  see  that  it  was  merely  edu- 
cation of  an  elementary  and  commonplace  sort — the  sort 
the  colleges,  those  wholesale  dealers  in  ready-made  mental 
clothes,  dressed  out  all  minds  in,  so  that  usually  one  could 
tell  a  college  man  just  as  one  could  tell  a  ready-made  suit. 
It  was  at  her  face  to  laugh  at  him.  What  an  instance  of 
woman's  good  looks  blinding  susceptible  man  to  the  truth 
''  about  her  internal  furnishing,  as  different  from  the  real 
thing  as  a  hotel  parlor  from  the  drawing-room  of  a  per- 
son of  taste  and  individuality.  But  she  did  not  laugh; 
that  would  have  seemed  meanness  toward  Helen — and 
Courtney,  no  lenient  critic  of  her  own  character,  rather 
suspected  herself  of  a  sly  ungenerous  envy  of  Helen's 
stature. 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Basil,  "  Miss  March  has  a  remarkable 
mind.  But  I'm  afraid  there's  no  hope — about  her  and  him. 
You  see,  she's  not  at  all  that  sort  of  girl.  She'd  rather  die 
than  commit  any  impropriety — that  is,  I  mean  of  course," 
he  stammered,  "  she's  horribly  prim." 

Courtney  would  have  thought  nothing  of  it,  had  he 
not  stumbled  and  hastened  on  to  explain.  But  that  agi- 
tated, apologetic  embarrassment  changed  "  she'd  rather  die 
than  commit  any  impropriety  "  from  a  commonplace  into  a 
tribute  to  Helen  which  was  a  slur  upon  herself.  For  her 

280 


THE   HUNGRY   HEAET 

love's  sake  she  resisted  the  temptation  to  pretend  not  to 
have  heard  or  felt.  "  You  like  that  sort  of  thing  in  a 
woman,  don't  you?  "  said  she,  with  a  lift  of  the  eyebrows, 
those  deep  notes  in  her  voice  ominous. 

"  In  Miss  March — yes,"  blundered  he.  "  That  is,  in  a 
young  girl."  He  halted,  burst  out  desperately,  "  You're 
always  suspecting  me  of  not  respecting  you." 

There  began  to  gather  in  Courtney  an  emotion  that 
terrified  her.  It  was  not  anger;  it  was  not  shame.  It 
seemed,  rather,  a  sort  of  dread — though  of  what  she  did 
not  know — did  not  wish  to  know.  "  Please,  no  protests," 
she  said  hurriedly.  "  Let's  drop  the  subject." 

"  I  do  respect  you,"  he  said,  doggedly.  "  But  if  I 
didn't " — there,  he  looked  at  her — "  I  feel  for  you 
something  that's  so  much  more  than  respect — I  love 
you." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  and  her  eyes  gleamed 
and  glistened  as  they  opened  wide.  She  had  a  way  of  open- 
ing her  eyes  upon  him  that  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were 
standing  on  a  high  place  and  about  to  plunge  dizzily  into 
the  sea  at  the  call  of  a  mermaid.  The  silence  that  fol- 
lowed was  interrupted — rudely  it  seemed  to  them — by  the 
return  of  Helen  and  Dick. 

"  I  need  somebody  in  addition  to  you,  Gallatin,  to  help 
out  down  at  the  shop,"  said  Dick,  "  and  Helen  is  going 
to  try." 

"  If  Cousin  Courtney  is  willing,"  said  Helen.  "  She 
may  need  me  here,  as  I  told  you." 

Courtney  had  been  standing  with  her  fingers  on  the 
edge  of  the  chimney-piece,  gazing  between  her  arms  into 
the  fire.  She  slowly  turned  and  regarded  Richard.  Basil 
and  Helen  working  together! 

"  Oh,  no,  she  doesn't  need  you  here,"  asserted  Vaughan. 
281 


And  catching  Courtney's  eye,  he  glanced  from  Basil  to 
Helen  and  winked. 

Courtney  seemed  not  to  see.  "  Helen  doesn't  want  to 
go  down  there,"  said  she.  "  Richard  imagines,  if  people 
listen  politely  to  his  talk  about  chemistry,  that  they're  as 
interested  as  he." 

"  Really  I'd  like  it,"  said  Helen,  a  good  deal  of  nerv- 
ousness in  her  enthusiasm. 

"  She  could  try  it  anyhow,"  urged  Vaughan.  "  We 
need  some  one — don't  we,  Basil  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Basil.  "  You  remember,  I  suggested  you 
ought  to  ask  Mrs.  Courtney  to  take  a  hand." 

"  Courtney !  "  Vaughan  laughed  gayly.  "  She  has  no 
fancy  for  anything  serious.  Now,  Helen  is  masculine 
minded." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  declared  Helen,  much  agitated  by  such 
an  accusation,  in  presence  of  an  eligible  young  man.  "  I'm 
so  much  a  woman  that  I'm  what's  called  a  woman's 
woman." 

"  Helen  prefers  to  stay  here,"  said  Courtney.  "  So,  I 
think  I'll  try." 

Richard  stared  and  frowned. 

She  smiled  at  Basil.  "  Richard  is  getting  broad 
minded,"  she  went  on  slowly,  selecting  her  words.  "  A  short 
time  ago  the  idea  of  a  woman  in  that  laboratory  of  his 
would  have  upset  him  quite.  I  remember,  when  we  were 
first  married,  I  made  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  get  him 
to  let  me  help.  He  was  finally  quite  rude  about  it."  She 
spoke  with  no  suggestion  of  resentment;  and,  indeed,  that 
time  seemed  so  remote,  so  like  a  part  of  another  life  or 
another  person's  life  that  she  felt  no  resentment. 

"  I'm  sure — we'll — both — be  glad  to  have  you,"  stam- 
mered Basil.  He  was  confused  before  the  instinct-born 

282 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART         * 

thought  that  those  few  apparently  simple  words  of  hers,  so 
quietly  and  so  good-humoredly  spoken,  were  in  fact  the 
story  of  the  matrimonial  ruin  he  had  found  when  he  came 
— and  was  profiting  by. 

"  I'll  come  down  to-morrow,"  Courtney  went  on. 
"  Helen  can  look  after  things  here." 

Helen  could  not  conceal  her  relief;  when  the  men  were 
gone  she  said:  "  I'm  so  glad  you  got  me  out  of  that.  Dick 
would  have  discovered  what  a  stupid  I  am  in  about  one 
hour,  and  he'd  have  despised  me.  I'd  hate  that,  as  I  think 
he's  wonderful.  How  proud  you  must  be  of  him.  Of 
course,  Basil  is  very  sweet — and  such  a  gentleman — and 
how  well  he  does  dress !  But  Dick —  They're  not  in  the 
same  class." 

"  No,"  said  Courtney. 

Just  then  Vaughan  came  hurrying  in.  "  I  forgot  some- 
thing I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  my  dear,"  he  began.  "  Come 
in  here " 

Helen  took  the  hint  and  hastened  away.  Vaughan  went 
on,  "  Why  on  earth  didn't  you  help  me?  " 

Courtney  looked  interrogative.  She  felt  a  curious  im- 
personal anger  against  him  for  having  blunderingly  inter- 
fered in  her  affairs. 

"  Didn't  you  see,"  explained  Richard  somewhat  irrita- 
bly, "  I  had  it  all  fixed  to  bring  those  two  together?  " 

"  How  dull  of  me!  " 

"  It's  not  too  late.  All  you  have  to  do  is  back  out  and 
send  her." 

"  And  have  her  exhibit  herself  before  him  at  her  worst. 
And  get  him  sick  of  the  very  sight  of  her."  Richard  began 
to  look  foolish.  Courtney  went  on  in  the  same  tone  of  light 
mockery:  "  If  you  want  a  girl  to  marry  a  man,  or  a  man 
a  girl,  you  mustn't  let  them  see  too  much  of  each  other. 

283 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

If  possible,  make  it  hard  for  them  to  get  at  each  other." 
The  emerald  eyes  were  mockingly  mirthful  now.  "  No 
such  love-inducer  in  the  world  as  holding  two  people  apart. 
And  when  two  can  see  each  other  freely — to  their  heart's 
content — and  satiation — why — "  She  finished  with  a 
shrug,  her  eyes  looking  straight  into  his. 

"  All  right.  You  women  know  each  other  best,"  said 
he,  uncomfortable,  without  being  able  to  locate  the  cause. 

"  Helen  will  stay  at  home,  like  the  homebody  she  is," 
pursued  Courtney.  "  And  I'll  come  to  help  you.  I've  had 
it  in  mind  for  several  days." 

"  You're  not  in  earnest  about  that !  "  cried  Vaug'han  in 
alarm.  "  Why,  what'd  you  do  there  ?  You'd  be  in  the 
way." 

"  More  than  Helen  ?  " 

"  Frankly — yes,"  said  Richard  bluntly.  "  As  I  said 
before,  serious  things  interest  her.  You  know,  I  dislike 
that  sort  of  thing  in  a  woman — am  glad  to  see  that  you've 
gotten  entirely  over  it,  as  I  knew  you  would.  But  I  could 
have  put  up  with  it — for  a  while — to  help  Helen  to  a  good 
husband  and  Basil  to  a  fine  wife.  It  wouldn't  have  taken 
long — at  least,  I  thought  not.  I  admit  I  was  probably 
wrong,  and  you  right." 

"  Well — now  that  I've  said  I'd  come,  I'll  come,"  said 
Courtney.  "  Helen'll  take  most  of  the  detail  here  off  my 
hands." 

"  If  you  really  want  to  come — "  said  Dick,  reluctant. 
"  I  suppose — after  what  I've  said —  Well,  you  can  come 
for  a  few  days." 

Courtney  was  looking  into  the  fire.  Not  for  a  "  few- 
days  "  but  for  as  long  as  Basil  worked  with  those  dan- 
gerous chemicals.  If  anything  happened — they  would  be 
together.  Richard  was  looking  at  her;  but  he  thought  it 

284 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

was  tlie  fire  liglit  that  was  giving  her  the  strange,  some- 
how terrible  expression  which  yet  enhanced  her  beauty  and 
her  charm. 

"  How  serious  you  look,"  said  he.  "  Really,  quite  tragic 
— in  that  light." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  the  way  the  light  falls,"  replied  she. 
"  Or  is  it  because  I've  mislaid  my  pet  powder  rag?  " 

Next  morning  as  soon  as  Courtney  dispatched  her  house- 
hold routine  she  went  down  to  the  Smoke  House  and  ap- 
peared before  Richard  in  his  laboratory  for  the  first  time 
since  that  morning  after  the  homecoming,  long,  long  ago 
in  that  other  life.  With  a  platinum  rod  he  was  slowly 
stirring  some  fiery  mixture  of  a  dark  purple  color  in  a 
big  iron  crucible.  She  saw  that  the  fumes  were  poisonous, 
as  his  nose  and  mouth  were  protected  by  a  respirator.  As 
on  the  previous  visit  she  stood  silent  in  the  doorway  watch- 
ing him.  She  had  long  since  passed  the  stage  of  com- 
parisons and  contrasts;  and  her  mind  was  altogether  upon 
the  present  and  the  future,  as  an  intelligent  young  mind 
is  extremely  apt  to  be.  So,  she  was  not  thinking  of  that 
previous  visit,  but  was  simply  interested  in  what  he  was 
doing — in  his  work,  which  she  had  now  resolved,  with  an 
experienced  woman's  determination,  to  make  her  own  work 
also,  no  matter  what  opposition  she  might  encounter.  Her 
achievements  in  house  and  gardens,  in  bringing  up  Winchie, 
in  breaking  through  the  barriers  of  moral  convention  so 
powerful  round  a  woman  born  and  bred  as  she  liad  been — 
these  feats  had  wonderfully  developed  her  will,  had  re- 
placed shyness  and  timidity  with  quiet  self-confidence. 

When  the  contents  of  the  crucible  cooled  and  he  took 
off  the  respirator,  she  spoke.  "  I  see  you've  run  up  a  par- 
tition." 

He  glanced  at  her  with  a  frown — not  severe  but  irri- 
19  285 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

tated,  as  at  the  persistent  naughtiness  of  a  sweet  and 
charming  child.  "Oh,  you've  come — have  you?  .  .  .  Yes 
— the  partition  gives  Basil  and  me  each  his  own  shop.  I 
like  to  work  alone,  whenever  it's  possible." 

She  advanced  calmly,  indifferent  to  his  unfriendliness. 
"  Then  you  don't  want  me  to  help  you?  "  She  put  all  her 
diplomacy  of  tone  and  manner  into  that  little  speech.  She 
knew  how  much  depended  upon  this  "  entering  wedge  " — • 
this  getting  tolerated  within  those  walls. 

"  What  a  whimsical  creature  you  are !  "  Dick  was  still 
vexed,  but  half  laughing,  too.  She  was  so  delicate  and 
graceful,  so  fascinating  to  the  eye;  and  she  seemed  to  him 
absurdly,  quaintly  out  of  place  there.  "  Basil !  "  he  called. 
"Gallatin!" 

Gallatin,  in  a  blouse,  rubber  apron  and  gloves  appeared 
from  the  other  part  of  the  shop. 

"  Well — here's  the — the  'prentice,"  said  Dick.  "  You're 
not  busy  nowadays.  Take  charge  of  her." 

"  It'll  be  a  great  pleasure,  I'm  sure,"  he  stammered. 
He  looked  about  as  uncomfortable  at  sight  of  her  as  had 
Richard.  Demurely  she  followed  him  into  his  compart- 
ment. As  the  partition  did  not  extend  to  the  ceiling,  they 
had  to  content  themselves  with  an  exchange  of  eloquent 
glances.  Then,  taking  the  tone  of  gentleman  chemist  to 
not  overbright  and  densely  ignorant  lady  visitor  at  a  labora- 
tory, he  began  to  explain  to  her  the  names  and  uses  of 
things,  and  to  demonstrate  how  to  use  them. 

For  the  entire  morning  he  talked  and  illustrated,  thor- 
oughly enjoying  himself  at  making  a  fine  impression  with 
his  display  of  superior  knowledge.  He  told  her  little  she 
did  not  already  know.  But  she  was  not  so  tactless  as  to 
spoil  his  pleasure  or  hurt  his  vanity.  She  listened  and 
tried;  and  when  he  complimented  her  on  her  quickness  in 

286 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

learning,  she  showed  delight  at  being  praised.  In  the 
afternoon  he  allowed  her  to  practice  his  teachings  unas- 
sisted— set  her  at  weighing  a  little  nitrate  of  potassium 
precipitate  in  the  gold  and  ivory  and  aluminum  balances. 
She  had  done  this  sort  of  things  a  hundred  times,  but  was 
meek  under  his  elaborations  of  cautioning  and  explaining. 

"  I  worked  a  lot  in  laboratories  at  school,"  said  she  in- 
genuously, when  his  guidance  became  a  little  tiresome. 
"  It's  beginning  to  come  back  to  me." 

He  smiled  in  a  way  that  reminded  her  of  Richard. 
"  All  right.  Do  the  best  you  can,"  said  he.  "  We'll  not 
expect  much  of  you  for  the  present.  I'm  afraid  you'll  soon 
give  up." 

She  looked  at  him.  "  I'm  here  to  stay,"  said  she. 
"  You'll  not  get  rid  of  me." 

"  But  the  work's  very  hard — not  at  all  feminine." 

"  That  suits  me.  For,  I'm  not  at  all  feminine,  myself 
— what  men  mean  by  feminine." 

He  laughed,  went  about  his  own  business.  As  she  sat 
at  the  balances,  her  whole  mind  on  the  needle  she  was 
watching  through  the  reading  glass,  she  felt  herself  caught 
from  behind.  She  turned  her  laughing  face  upward  and 
backward,  and  they  kissed.  "  Isn't  it  splendid !  "  he  ex- 
claimed under  his  breath.  "  Yes — you  must  stay."  It  had 
been  part  of  her  plan  of  life  that  they  should  never  caress. 
Suddenly  she  realized  how  impossible  this  rule  was — and 
how  foolish.  On  occasions — such  occasions  as  this  joy  in 
the  unexpected  kindness  of  fate — the  rule  must  be  sus- 
pended. 

"  How  long  it's  been !  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Not 
since  early  September  have  I  kissed  you — and  this  is  almost 
February." 

She  glanced  warningly  toward  the  top  of  the  partition. 
287 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Away  at  the  other  end/'  Basil  assured  her,  "  and 
doing  something  that  can't  be  left  an  instant  for  an  hour 
or  more." 

"  Well  then — "  She  blushed,  hesitated,  gave  him  a  pas- 
sionate, longing  look.  "  One  more  kiss — and  we  go  to 
work." 

He  seated  himself  and  drew  her  to  his  lap.  With  their 
heads  close  together,  they  talked — of  anything,  of  every- 
thing, of  nothing — and  hardly  knew  what  they  were  say- 
ing— and  cared  not  at  all.  "  Oh,  the  happiness  of  it,"  she 
murmured.  "  And  we  are  to  work  side  by  side,  too.  It 
seems  a  dream.  I  can't  believe  it." 

"  And  soon  it  will  be  spring  again,  and  we  shall  be  a 
little  freer." 

"  Be  patient  until  I  get  everything  settled,"  she  an- 
swered, "  and  we  shall  be  free  almost  all  the  time.  I  have 
thought  it  out." 

"  You  think  of  everything." 

"  I  think  of  nothing  but  you — always  you,"  she  an- 
swered. "What  have  I  but  our  love?  I  want  to  make 
the  house  comfortable,  your  apartment  comfortable,  myself 
attractive — all,  so  that  love  will  never  begin  to  think  of 
taking  flight." 

"  Flight !  "  He  laughed  softly.  "  How  absurd !  Can't 
you  feel  that  I'm  just  wrapped  up  in  you?  " 

She  touched  his  tight  encircling  arms.  "  I  can  feel 
that  I'm  just  wrapped  up  in  you,"  she  retorted.  "  Now, 
let  me  go.  I  am  not  to  keep  you  from  the  work — or 
you  me." 

"  Not  just  yet" 

"  Yes  " — firmly.  "  You  don't  take  me  any  more  seri- 
ously than  Richard  does.  But  I  don't  in  the  least  care. 
If  I  am  serious,  what  does  it  matter  whether  anyone  thinks 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

so  or  not?"  She  laughed  a  little.  "And  I'm  feminine 
enough,  I'll  admit,  to  want  to  be  what  the  man  who  wants 
me  wants  me  to  be." 

He  was  not  listening.  He  held  her  more  tightly,  and 
she  knew  what  was  coming  before  he  began  to  speak. 
"  Let  me  come  to-night,  Courtney.  Just  this  once.  I 
simply  want  to  be  alone  with  you " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied.  "  Don't  let's  tempt  each  other 
to  risk  years  of  happiness  for  a  frightened  moment."  And, 
afraid  she  would  yield  if  he  kept  on  urging,  she  abruptly 
freed  herself  and  sent  him  back  to  his  seat. 

An  hour,  and  he  came  to  her  again.  "  I've  been  doing 
nothing  but  watch  you,  and  you  haven't  looked  round 
once." 

"  This  work  is  interesting,"  replied  she — and  it  was 
the  simple  truth. 

"  No — not  once !  " 

"  What  a  good  example  I'm  setting  you.  I  always 
used  to  like  chemistry.  And  I  was  a  harum-scarum  girl 
then.  Now,  I  see  I'm  going  to  be  tremendously  fond 
of  it." 

"  Courtney — I  can't  stand — our — our  compact.  I  sim- 
ply can't.  I  feel  as  if  you  had  thrust  me  out  of  your  life. 
And —  Have  you  no  memory,  sweetheart?  Courtney, 
we're  only  human  beings,  after  all.  And  we've  the  right. 
Aren't  you  my  wife?  " 

"  Don't  tempt  me,  Basil,"  she  answered  with  a  sigh. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  feel  it?  Sometimes  I  get  to 
thinking  what  might  be —  But  I  will  not!  You  do  not 
wish  it."  And  she  glanced  meaningly  at  the  partition. 

"  You  are  mine !  "  he  whispered,  moved  by  the  reminder 
but  not  abashed.  "If  I  had  never  known  love  in  its  full- 
ness, I  might  be  able  to  endure  this  cold,  repellent  pre- 
289 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

tense  of  virtue — for,  it's  nothing  but  a  flimsy  pretense. 
Courtney,  if  you  love  me " 

"  Is  your  love  only — that!  " 

"  If  you  loved  me,"  he  repeated,  "  you'd  not  calculate 
so  puritanically.  If  I  weren't  seeing  you,  dear,  I  could 
bear  it.  But  seeing  you  all  the  time — touching  you — kiss- 
ing you —  Courtney,  Courtney,  how  can  you  make  me,  and 
yourself  too,  suffer  so  needlessly?  If  you  really  love,  how 
can  you  keep  me  out  of  your  inmost  life — as  if  I  were  not 
everything  to  you?  " 

"  I  explained  to  you " 

"  Explained  !  Explained  !  "  he  said,  impatiently.  "  We 
explain  and  explain,  but  it's  all  sophistry.  The  truth  is — 
what?  That  we  are  lovers.  And,  if  our  love  is  a  sin,  why 
not  take  all  its  reward  since  we'll  have  to  take  all  its  pun- 
ishment ?  " 

"  Don't  harass  me  now,"  she  begged,  agitated  and 
trembling. 

"  Harass  you ! "  He  drew  away  offendedly.  "  I 
thought  I  was  pleading  for  you,  as  well  as  for  myself. 
If  I  am  not,  please  forget  what  I  said." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that !  " 

"  Then  I  may  come  to-night — or  you  to  me  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  sad,  pleading  look.  "  Not  to-night, 
dear.  Not  just  yet.  We  must  wait  till  things  are  going 
quietly  in  a  routine." 

"  How  easily  you  put  us  off !  " 

"Basil!— Please!" 

He  stared  sulkily  out  of  the  window.  "  It  does  sting 
my  pride  that  you  care  so  much  less  than  I.  It  does  make 
me — almost  doubt." 

"  Not  so  loud !  " 

"  You  don't  realize  how  far  away  he  is,  and  how  ab- 
290 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

sorbed.  ...  I  take  back  all  I  said."  And  he  straightened 
himself  coldly  and  went  to  his  own  part  of  the  room. 

A  moment,  and  she  followed  him.  "  You  are  offended, 
Basil." 

"  No— hurt." 

She  sighed.     "  I  will  come  to-night." 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  come!  " 

"  To  be  honest,  no.  I  should  feel — "  She  hesitated. 
She  wished  to  be  frank;  but  how  could  she  be,  when  he 
was  in  that  mood  of  doubt?  How  could  she  explain  again 
that,  in  some  respects,  she  loathed  the  memory  of  the  times 
they  had  been  stealthily  together — the  alarms,  the  narrow 
escapes  from  discovery — the  commonness  of  it  all — like 
those  low  intrigues  that  get  into  the  newspapers,  to  make 
coarse  mouths  water  and  vulgar  eyes  sparkle?  If  she  tried 
to  tell  him,  he  would  misunderstand.  "  Not  just  yet,"  she 
went  on.  "  I'm  in  a  queer  mood — not  myself.  You " 

She  was  so  tender,  so  loving,  so  deeply  distressed  that, 
in  shame  and  contrition,  he  embraced  her.  "  I'm  sorry  I 
said  anything.  But  you'll  understand.  How  can  I  help 
longing  for  you?  It's  your  own  fault — you  beautiful, 
wonderful  woman!  " 

And  their  first  clash  ended  in  kisses,  in  serenity  re- 
stored, with  him  saying  —  and  thinking  —  "  How  much 
braver  and  better  you  are  than  I !  Yours  is  the  love  that 
makes  a  man  stronger  and  decenter." 

Her  look  was  eloquent  of  gratitude  and  happiness.  But 
the  happiness  in  it  was  forced,  at  least  in  part,  was  rather 
what  she  felt  she  ought  to  feel  than  what  she  actually  did 
feel — as  is  so  often  the  case.  And  she  went  back  to  work 
with  a  certain  heaviness  of  heart — and  a  foreboding.  The 
slightest  alarm,  however  fanciful,  was  enough  to  call  up 
the  specter  of  those  months  of  loneliness  and  despair  after 


he  left.  That  specter  haunted  her,  was  in  her  mind  the 
fixed  idea  that  becomes  an  obsession.  She  knew  that  to 
quiet  it,  she  would  if  necessary  stop  at  nothing.  "  I  can 
never  give  him  up  again.  I'd  do  anything — anything — 
rather  than  even  risk  it."  Pride  and  self-respect  were  all 
very  well,  but  those  who  could  put  such  things  before  love 
had  not  loved.  She  hoped  and  prayed  Basil  would  not 
force  her  to  the  test.  But — if  he  did —  She  sighed,  and 
bade  herself  wait  until  that  situation  arose  before  worrying 
over  it. 


XIX 

Now  that  the  throes  of  birth  were  over,  their  love  bade 
fair  to  be  like  those  robust  infants  that  almost  kill  mothers 
in  the  bearing  but  thereafter  give  not  a  moment's  anxiety. 
Outdoors  it  was  rivalling  the  previous  winter;  indoors — 
at  the  house  and  at  the  laboratory — there  reigned  mid- 
summer serenity.  Nanny — always  a  shadow,  though  very 
faint  indeed  latterly — had  yielded  before  her  arch  enemy, 
rheumatism,  had  been  pensioned  off,  had  gone  to  her 
brother's,  seventeen  miles  into  the  wilderness.  She  would 
shadow  them  no  more.  Richard  had  come  to  another  crisis 
in  his  researches ;  and  a  mind  in  the  act  of  gestation  is  like 
a  hen  on  eggs — solitary,  brooding,  best  left  utterly  alone. 
He  was  as  unconscious  of  Courtney  and  Basil  as  of  him- 
self; all  three  were,  for  him,  simply  instruments  to  the 
strange  and  terrible  marvels  of  chemical  action  that  were 
unfolding.  Soon  Basil  felt  about  him  as  did  Courtney — 
that  is,  lost  all  sense  of  his  being  related  to  her  or  to  the 
life  of  the  household.  As  they  held  to  their  compact,  they 
experienced  none  of  passion's  inevitable  alternations  of 
rapture  and  revulsion.  Habit  is  equally  the  friend  of 
virtue  and  of  vice.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  months  but 
of  weeks  when  they  were  looking  on  their  love  as  not  only 
moral  but  even  exalted,  since  they  were  self-restrained. 

The  chief  factor  in  the  tranquillity  was  the  work. 
Courtney  began  at  the  laboratory  solely  that  she  and  Basil 
might  be  together.  Soon  she  had  another  reason — love  of 
the  work  itself.  Everything  worth  while,  whether  for 
achievement  or  for  amusement,  involves  drudgery  at  the 

293 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

outset — tennis  or  bridge  no  less  than  a  trade  or  an  art. 
Although  Courtney  had  done  at  school  the  worst  part  of 
the  drudgery  in  acquiring  chemistry,  it  was  nearly  a  month 
before  she  began  to  enjoy.  Then  came  the  first  haunting 
alluring  glimpses  of  the  elusive  mystery  which  makes 
chemistry  the  most  fascinating  of  the  sciences;  and  from 
that  hour  forth  she  forgot  the  difficulties  in  the  delights. 
She  often  stole  in  to  gaze  longingly  at  Richard's  work — 
for,  he  kept  the  main  part  of  the  great  task  of  finding  a 
new  and  universal  fuel  altogether  in  his  own  hands  and 
used  the  other  two  as  mere  helpers.  She  would  have  liked 
to  work  with  him;  and,  as  she  understood  better  and  better 
what  he  was  about,  the  temptation  to  try  to  bring  her  skill 
and  her  knowledge  to  his  attention  became  strong  at  times. 
But  she  was  afraid  that  if  he  began  to  think  attentively 
about  her  being  there,  he  would  send  her  away.  No,  it 
was  best  to  remain  hidden  behind  Basil,  to  do  nothing  to 
remind  Richard  of  her  existence. 

At  first  Basil  assumed  she  was  toiling  like  another 
Richard  because  she  wished  quickly  to  get  knowledge 
enough  to  make  plausible  her  necessary  pretense  of  inter- 
est. But  after  a  few  weeks  he  saw  she  was  in  earnest,  or 
thought  she  was — for,  he  could  not  believe  one  so  pretty, 
so  charming,  so  light  of  spirit  and  of  mind,  could  be  deeply 
in  earnest  about  such  a  heavy,  unwomanly  matter  as  chem- 
istry— or  about  anything  else,  except  of  course  love.  He 
was  fond  of  chemistry;  but  it  was  in  the  fashion  of  most 
men's  fondness  for  serious  effort — to  get  excuse  and  appe- 
tite for  idling.  However,  partly  through  pride,  partly  be- 
cause her  enthusiasm  was  contagious,  he  buckled  to  and 
worked  as  Richard  had  never  been  able  to  make  him. 

"  Really,  you  needn't  crowd  yourself  quite  so  hard," 
said  he  to  Courtney,  when  his  own  energy  began  to  flag. 

294 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  I've  got  to  choose  between  being  a  drag  and  a  help. 
Besides — "  She  glanced  down  with  the  shy,  subtle  smile 
he  had  learned  to  recognize  as  a  cover  for  something  she 
meant  very  much  indeed —  "  don't  you  find  that  being  oc- 
cupied is  a  great  aid?  " 

"  I'd  not  have  thought  it  possible  to  live  as  we're  liv- 
ing— and  be  happy." 

"  You  are  happy  ?  "  As  she  asked  this,  she  scrutinized 
his  face  in  woman's  familiar  veiled  fashion.  She  was  al- 
ways watching,  watching,  for  the  first  faint  dreaded  sign 
of  discontent. 

"  So  much  so,"  answered  he,  earnestly,  "  that  I'd  be 
afraid  to  change  anything." 

She  saw  that  he  meant  it,  that  he  felt  it  with  all  the 
intensity  of  the  fine  side  of  his  nature.  And  she  breathed 
a  secret  sigh  of  relief.  She  said:  "  Every  day — time  and 
again — I  say  to  myself,  '  If  only  this  will  last! ' ' 

"  It  will !  "  declared  he. 

And,  pessimist  though  she  had  been  made  by  disap- 
pointment on  disappointment  in  small  things  and  large  her 
whole  life  through,  she  began  to  hope  that  this  would 
last,  that  the  worst  of  her  life  was  perhaps  over,  that  her 
life  problem  was  settling  and  settling  right.  The  watch- 
dogs of  presentiment  are  like  their  much  overrated  ani- 
mal prototypes.  They  bark  at  everything,  that  they 
may  get  credit  for  usefulness  if  by  chance  they  once  do 
happen  to  vent  their  nerve-racking  warnings  in  advance 
of  a  real  peril.  Even  presentiment  called  its  dogs  off 
duty. 

She  had  been  brought  up  among  people  who  imagine 
they  see  the  operations  of  natural  law  in  the  artificial  con- 
ventions of  morality  that  differ  for  every  age  and  race 
and  creed,  really  for  every  individual.  She  had  long  dis- 

295 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

carded  as  superstition  the  creed  of  her  parents;  but  she 
had  not  been  able  wholly  to  uproot  all  the  ramifications  of 
beliefs  dependent  upon  that  creed  for  vitality.  Thus,  she 
vaguely  felt  a  relationship  of  effect  and  cause  between  her 
sufferings  in  the  autumn  and  early  winter  and  those  fear- 
shadowed,  shame-alloyed  but  ecstatic  moments  of  joy  in 
the  summer.  And  in  the  same  vague  way,  there  seemed 
to  her  some  sort  of  connection  between  their  present  hap- 
piness and  their  self-restraint.  She  would  have,  quite  hon- 
estly, denied,  had  she  been  accused  of  harboring  such  a 
"  remnant  of  superstition."  Nevertheless,  it  was  the  fact. 
However,  she  did  not  analyze  or  reason  about  her  happi- 
ness. She  simply  accepted  and  enjoyed  it — and  forgot  the 
foundations  on  which  it  rested. 

And  the  days — the  long,  long  days  that  only  people 
who  live  in  quiet  places  have — moved  tranquilly  and  hap- 
pily by,  swift  yet  slow.  The  weeks  seemed  to  be  flying, 
and  the  days  went  very  fast;  but  each  hour  presented  its 
full  quota  of  sixty  minutes  for  enjoyment.  In  those  dread- 
ful days  of  the  previous  fall  she  had  wished  every  hour  that 
she  was  living  in  a  city,  because  in  the  city  a  thousand 
resolute  intrusions  compel  distraction,  make  the  moments 
seem  to  fly,  whether  the  heart  is  heavy  or  light.  Now,  she 
was  glad  with  all  her  heart  that  she  was  living  and  loving 
where  there  were  no  distractions,  where  each  moment  could 
be  lived  as  a  connoisseur  drinks  his  glass  of  rare  old  wine 
drop  by  drop. 


One  day  late  in  April  she  and  Richard,  it  so  hap- 
pened, were  alone  for  a  few  minutes  before  supper.  He 
abruptly  emerged  from  his  abstraction  to  say,  "  Basil  and 
Helen  are  getting  on  famously." 

296 


She  startled,  then  lapsed  into  her  usual  isolation  when 
alone  with  him. 

"  I  expect  there'll  be  a  marriage  before  the  summer 
is  out." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Courtney,  absently. 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  match.  They're  both  comfortably 
shallow.  They're  fond  of  the  same  kind  of  harmless  pre- 
tenses. They  look  well  together.  ...  I  hope  they'll  stay 
on  with  us — at  least  until  the  first  baby  comes." 

She  shivered,  rose  abruptly.  "  Supper  must  certainly 
be  ready,"  said  she. 

"  Then,"  pursued  Dick,  intent  upon  his  train  of  thought, 
"  they  might  get  the  Donaldson  place.  The  Donaldsons 
want  to  sell." 

She  smiled  ironically.  "  I  suppose  you've  spoken  to 
Donaldson  about  it." 

"  Not  yet.  But  next  time  I  see  him,  I'll  give  him  a 
hint.  He  might  sell  to  some  one  else." 

Basil  now  came  in.  "  Sell  what?  "  he  asked,  to  join  in 
the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Dick.  "  Courtney  and  I  were 
discussing  the  Donaldson  place.  Donaldson  wants  to 
sell,  and  we  thought  we  might  get  neighbors  we  didn't 

like." 

• 

"  Richard  suggested,"  said  Courtney,  in  her  most  in- 
nocent manner,  "  that  you  might  buy  it." 

Dick  looked  alarmed.  Basil,  with  his  eyes  on  Courtney, 
promptly  said:  "  Maybe  I  will.  It's  second  only  to  this 
place.  And  I  shall  always  live  here." 

"  Richard  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  for  you  to 
settle  there  when  you  and  Helen  marry,"  said  Courtney, 
with  a  smile  only  Basil  could  understand. 

If  anything,  Basil  looked  more  confused  and  nervous 

297 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

than  did  Richard;  he  laughed  hysterically.  "  Really — 
really — that's  very  attractive — if — "  he  stammered. 

Just  then  Helen,  out  of  hearing  on  the  lake-front 
veranda,  happened  to  call,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Gallatin !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  hastened  out  to  join  her. 
Richard  stared  helplessly  at  his  wife.  "  Now,  rvhy  did 
you  do  that?  "  he  demanded. 

"What?" 

"  You  certainly  are  the  most  thoughtless,  frivolous  per- 
son !  I  never  knew  you  to  he  serious  about  anything — 
except  something  that  was  of  not  the  least  importance.  I 
must  remember  to  be  always  on  guard  when  I  speak  before 
you." 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to  be  careful.  I'm  not  intellectual, 
like  Helen.  But  I  was  forgetting;  now  you  say  she's  shal- 
low, too." 

"  All  intellectual  women  are  shallow,"  said  Dick.  He 
was  ashamed  of  his  heat  of  the  moment  before.  "  And  I 
never  said  you  were  shallow.  You  ought  to  be  glad  you 
have  no  intellectual  tendencies,  but  are  a  bundle  of  in- 
stincts and  impulses,  as  a  woman  should  be.  I  guess  you 
didn't  spill  the  milk,  after  all.  If  Gallatin  loves  Helen, 
a  little  break  such  as  you  made  won't  scare  him  off." 

"  No  indeed.  When  a  man's  in  love,  the  sight  of  the 
net  doesn't  frighten  him.  He  helps  to  hold  it  open  so  that 
he  can  jump  in  deep." 

Courtney  intended  to  tease  Basil,  the  next  time  they 
were  alone.  But  it  slipped  her  mind  until  nearly  a  week 
later.  Basil  had  got  into  the  habit  of  going  out  for  a 
stroll  and  a  smoke  every  morning  about  ten.  She  never 
went  with  him,  because  she  did  not  wish  to  interrupt  her 
work  to  which  she  could  give  only  the  mornings,  as  the 
time  for  gardens  and  growing  things  was  at  hand.  One 

298 


morning  it  so  chanced  that  her  task  of  the  moment  was 
just  finished  when  Basil  moved  toward  the  door.  "  I'll  go 
with  you/'  said  she. 

He  hesitated,  looked  disconcerted. 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  want  me,"  laughed  she. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  he  hastened  to  say.  "  Only — usually 
you  don't." 

They  went  out  together,  walked  up  and  down  the  wide 
retaining  wall  of  the  lake,  beyond  the  Smoke  House.  Pres- 
ently Helen  appeared,  on  her  way  to  the  apartment  over 
the  laboratory.  Now  that  she  had  charge  of  the  house- 
keeping, it  was  part  of  her  duties  to  look  at  the  apartment 
and  see  that  Lizzie  was  keeping  things  clean  and  was 
making  Gallatin  comfortable.  At  sight  of  Basil  and  Court- 
ney, she  stopped  short,  colored  painfully.  She  answered 
their  greetings  with  embarrassment,  went  with  awkward 
haste  in  at  the  apartment  entrance. 

"  Helen's  extremely  shy,"  said  Courtney. 

"  She  is  difficult  to  get  acquainted  with,"  replied  Basil. 
His  manner  might  have  been  either  absent  or  constrained. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  given  you  much  chance,"  said 
Courtney,  merely  by  way  of  saying  something. 

"  Oh,  I  know  her  pretty  well,"  Basil  hastened  to  pro- 
test. "  There's  a  lot  more  to  her  than  one  sees  at  first." 

"  Indeed  there  is,"  said  Courtney,  warmly.  "  I've 
grown  very  fond  of  her — fonder  than  I  ever  thought  I 
could  be  of  another  woman.  I  don't  care  much  for  women. 
They're  so  small  toward  each  other — because  they're  all 
brought  up  to  be  cutthroat  rivals  in  the  same  low  business 
— husband-catching.  But  Helen  isn't  a  bit  small.  She  has 
a  real  heart." 

"  And  real  intellect,  too." 

Courtney's  smile  was  absolutely  free  from  malice. 
299 


"  That's  just  what  she  has  not/'  she  replied,  for  she  talked 
with  perfect  frankness  to  him,  her  other  self.  "  I  suppose 
the  man  never  lived  who  could  judge  a  good-looking 
woman.  Women  don't  always  misjudge  men.  But  men 
always  fancy  beauty  means  brains,  if  the  woman's  heavy 
and  serious — and  not  downright  imbecile." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  Miss  March  imbecile/'  said  he.  "  Or 
even  heavy." 

"  Now  don't  be  cross  because  I  hinted  that  women  could 
fool  you,"  teased  Courtney.  "  And  I  didn't  mean  to  sug- 
gest that  Helen  is  imbecile  or  heavy." 

"  She  knows  an  awful  lot,"  said  Basil.  "  She  often 
corrects  me — in  little  slips  about  authors  and  poetry,  and 
so  on." 

Courtney  could  hardly  keep  from  showing  her  amuse- 
ment that  Basil  should  be  impressed  by  what  was  really 
one  of  Helen's  weaknesses.  For  Helen,  like  so  many  who 
have  small  or  very  imperfect  knowledge,  attached  as  great 
importance  to  trifles  of  worthless  learning  as  a  college 
professor;  she  became  agitated  if  anyone  showed  lack  of 
knowledge  of  some  infinitesimal  in  etiquette  or  grammar  or 
what  not,  just  as  fashionable  people  sweat  with  mortifica- 
tion or  distend  with  vast  inward  derision  if  some  one, 
however  intelligent,  however  capable,  appears  among 
them  in  an  out-of-style  garment  or  uses  an  expression 
not  in  their  tiny  vocabulary.  Courtney  was  striving  tact- 
fully to  open  out  a  less  ignorant  point  of  view  to  Helen. 
And  here  was  Basil  showing  that  Helen's  weakness 
was  in  reality  a  strength,  highly  useful  in  dealing  with 
men. 

Courtney  said :  "  Helen  is  a  fine,  sensible,  capable  girl — 
about  the  finest  I  ever  knew.  And  she  has  genuine  sweet- 
ness and  good  taste." 

300 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  She  does  dress  well,"  said  Basil  warmly.  "  If  she 
had  the  means,  she'd  be  stunning." 

"  Could  be,  but  wouldn't  be,"  replied  Courtney,  per- 
fectly just  and  good  humored,  but  perhaps  a  little  weary 
of  hearing  another  young  woman's  praises  in  her  lover's 
voice.  "  She'd  '  settle  down '  if  she  married.  She's  reso- 
lutely old  fashioned — hates  to  think  or  to  exert  herself. 
She'll  make  a  fine,  old-fashioned  wife  for  some  man  who 
likes  to  be  mildly  bored  at  home  and  wants  his  fun  else- 
where. This  reminds  me.  Richard  has  you  and  her  mar- 
ried— wedding  in  the  fall — baby  next  spring." 

Basil  flushed  at  this  teasing. 

"  You  don't  seem  enthusiastic." 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  a  good  young  girl  spoken  of  so 
lightly,"  said  he,  with  some  stiffness. 

And  now  Courtney  colored.  After  a  moment  she  said, 
apologetic  without  knowing  why:  "  Perhaps  I  shouldn't 
have  done  it.  But  I  always  feel  free  to  speak  out  to  you 
any  stray  thought  that  drifts  into  my  head — without  choos- 
ing my  words." 

Helen  now  reappeared,  cast  a  peculiar  glance  in  their 
direction,  blushed  rosily,  hastened  away  toward  the  house. 
"  She'd  better  be  careful  how  she  blushes  at  sight  of  you," 
said  Courtney  smiling,  "  or  you'll  be  thinking  she's  in  love 
with  you." 

"  Nonsense!  "  protested  Basil,  again  unaccountably  irri- 
tated. 

"  How  solemn  you  are  to-day,  dear.  And,  why  shouldn't 
she  fall  in  love  with  you?  I  can  see  how  a  woman  might." 

He  did  not  respond  to  her  glance.  He  stared  straight 
ahead,  answered  awkwardly,  "  Helen  and  I  are  simply 
good  friends." 

The  phrase  jarred  upon  her  a  little.  "  Simply  good 
20  301 


friends."  As  she  repeated  it,  she  remembered  suddenly, 
vividly,  the  beginning  of  their  own  love.  They  too  had  been 
"  simply  good  friends."  The  phrase  kept  recurring  to 
her,  dinning  disagreeably  in  her  ears.  She  frowned  on 
herself;  she  laughed  at  herself.  But  it  continued  to  ring 
and  to  jar.  "  I  certainly  have  a  nasty  jealous  streak  hid- 
den away  in  my  disposition,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I 
mustn't  encourage  it." 

During  the  next  few  days  every  time  Helen  and  Basil 
were  together,  she  caught  herself  watching  them  for  signs 
— "Signs  of  what?"  she  demanded  of  herself.  But  in 
spite  of  herself  she  kept  on  watching.  That  specter  of 
the  dreadful  days  without  him — that  specter  so  easily 
called  up — began  to  glide  about  in  the  background  of 
her  thoughts,  rousing  those  fears  before  which  she  was 
abject  coward. 

Helen  had  the  young  girl's  usual  assortment  of  harm- 
less little  tricks.  Her  favorite  was  to  note  when  a  man 
made  a  remark  which  she  thought  he  regarded  as  clever, 
to  go  back  to  it  after  a  moment  or  so,  and  repeat  it  and 
laugh  or  admire  according  as  it  had  been  intended  to  be 
amusing  or  profound.  She  was  constantly  doing  this — 
with  Richard,  with  Basil,  with  every  man  she  met.  The 
time  came  when  the  overworked  trick  began  to  get  upon 
Courtney's  nerves,  especially  as  Helen,  being  entirely 
without  humor  and  a  close-to-shore  wader  in  the  waters  of 
thought,  was  not  always  happy  in  her  selection  of  the 
remark.  Still,  her  intentions  being  of  the  best,  Courtney 
endured;  and  at  times  she  got  not  a  little  secret  amuse- 
ment from  seeing  how  Basil  and  even  Richard  were  flat- 
tered by  the  trick,  never  suspecting,  even  after  Helen  had 
again  and  again  laughed  or  admired  effusively  in  quite  the 
wrong  place.  As  she  watched  Helen  and  Basil  now,  the 

302 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

only  "  sign "  she  saw  was  this  clever-stupid  subtlety  of 
Helen's  for  flattering  male  vanity — Helen  practicing  it  on. 
Basil,  Basil  purring  each  time  like  a  cat  under  the  strok- 
ing of  an  agreeable  hand.  This  certainly  was  not  serious. 
She  laughed  at  herself  with  a  reproachful  "  You  don't  de- 
serve happiness — trying  to  poison  it  with  contemptible  sus- 
picion." And  the  specter  faded,  and  she  no  longer  heard 
the  sound  of  rain  beating,  of  rain  drizzling,  of  rain  drip- 
ping through  days  and  nights  of  aloneness  and  despair. 


Spring  was  smiling  from  every  twig.  The  birds,  im- 
patient at  winter's  reluctant  leave-taking,  had  arrived  be- 
fore the  young  leaves  were  far  enough  advanced  to  cover 
them.  So,  every  tree  was  alive  with  them,  plainly  in  view, 
boldly  about  their  courting  and  nesting,  like  lovers  who, 
despairing  of  finding  a  quiet  place,  march  along  the  high- 
way embracing  in  defiance  of  curious  eyes.  One  morning, 
half  an  hour  after  Basil  went  out  for  his  habitual  stroll 
and  cigarette,  Courtney  changed  her  mind  and  decided  to 
join  him.  She  looked  along  the  retaining  wall.  No  Basil. 
She  walked  up  and  down,  noting,  and  feeling  in  her  own 
blood,  the  agitations  of  the  mightiest  force  in  the  uni- 
verse— those  agitations  that  in  the  springtime  set  all  nature 
to  quivering.  Ten  minutes  passed — fifteen — half  an  hour 
— nearly  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  Still  no  Basil.  She 
decided  he  must  have  gone  up  to  his  rooms  and  fallen 
asleep.  She  resisted  the  temptation  to  go  and  waken  him, 
and  went  slowly  toward  the  laboratory  doors.  Just  as  she 
was  about  to  jump  from  the  wall,  out  of  the  apartment 
entrance  came  Helen,  her  face  aglow,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
all  the  austerity  gone  from  her  regular  features.  "  Hovr 
pretty  she  looks,"  thought  Courtney.  "  I  wonder  what's 

303 


THE   HUNGRY.  HEART 

delighting  her  so.  One'd  think  she  was  in  love  and  was 
loved.  There  never  lived  a  sweeter,  more  unselfish  girl. 
Nothing  petty  in  her.  She  even  has  a  nice  way  of  being 
prudent  about  money." 

Helen  did  not  see  her,  went  quickly  up  the  path  and 
into  the  wood  between  the  Smoke  House  and  the  lawns 
round  the  house.  Courtney  resisted  the  impulse  to  call 
because  she  had  already  been  out  of  the  laboratory  too 
long.  As  Helen  disappeared  among  the  trees,  Courtney 
was  astounded  to  see  appear  at  the  apartment  door — Basil ! 
On  his  face  a  contented  pleased  expression,  as  if  he  were 
reflecting  upon  something  highly  agreeable —  Helen's  face 
— his  face —  Courtney  stood  for  an  instant  like  a  flaming 
torch  planted  upon  that  wall — a  torch  with  a  white-hot 
flame  of  hate. 

As  Basil  was  taking  a  last  puff  at  his  cigarette,  she 
darted  into  the  laboratory  and  sat  at  her  case.  When  he 
entered,  she  was  just  where  she  had  been  at  his  going  out. 
"  Still  at  work !  "  he  cried. 

"  Still  at  work !  "  said  she.  She  forced  her  lips  to 
smile,  but  she  did  not  dare  lift  her  fluttering  eyelids.  She 
looked  calm  and,  as  always,  sweet;  but  in  those  few  min- 
utes all  the  sweetness  of  her  nature  had  transformed,  as 
the  thunderstorm  changes  milk  from  food  to  poison.  And 
the  remembered  horror  of  those  days  of  desolation  goaded 
her  toward  a  very  insanity  of  fear  and  jealousy.  That 
smile  on  Helen's  face — then  on  his. 

He  stood  behind  her.  If  she  had  had  a  knife  she 
would  have  whirled  round  and  plunged  it  into  his  breast 
— and  then  into  her  own.  But  she  had  not;  also,  this 
was  twentieth-century  and  conventional  life.  She  sat 
rigid,  intent  upon  the  flame  of  the  blast  tube  she  was 
using. 

304 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  neck.  "  Sweetheart !  "  he  mur- 
mured. 

The  fixed  smile  became  a  distortion,  as  she  lowered  her 
head. 

"  The  spring — outdoors,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  low 
caressing  voice.  "  It's  hard  to  bear.  It  seems  so  long — 
so  long — since — "  His  pause  finished  the  sentence  better 
than  any  words. 

Long  indeed,  thought  she;  a  singularly  patient  and  re- 
strained lover;  strangely  respectful. 

"  There  are  more  kinds  of  happiness  in  love  than  I 
imagined,"  he  went  on.  "  But  do  you  never — never " 

"  Please,"  she  interrupted.  She  found  her  voice  could 
be  trusted;  she  ventured  to  test  her  eyes.  She  looked  up 
at  him,  taking  pleasure  in  veiling  her  hate  behind  a  smile. 
She  strove  to  make  the  smile  sweet  and  tender.  She  felt 
that  she  was  succeeding.  "  How  homely  he  is,"  she 
thought.  "  And  I  love  him — ugly  and  a  traitor.  I  love 
him,  and  I'll  keep  on  loving  him — for,  he's  all  there  is 
between  me  and  misery." 

Richard  called  them  into  the  front  compartment,  and 
the  three  worked  together  at  the  big  retort  the  rest  of  the 
morning.  It  was  a  strange  hour  and  a  half.  She  seemed 
to  be  two  distinct  persons — no,  three.  One  was  hating  Basil 
and  Helen — a  being  that  seemed  to  concentrate  all  that  is 
venomous  and  malignant.  One  was  watching  with  interest 
and  excitement  the  awful  processes  by  which  calm  liquids 
poured  together  suddenly  became  violent,  colorless  liquids 
a  marvelous  radiance  of  exquisite  color,  heat  became  in- 
finite cold  and  cold  became  heat  that  consumed  hard  metals 
as  if  they  were  bits  of  fluff.  The  third  personality  within 
her  was  aloof  and  calm,  and  watched  her  other  two  and 
wondered  at  them. 

305 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

At  dinner  time  she  and  Richard  walked  to  the  house 
together,  Basil  stopping  at  the  apartment  to  tidy  himself, 
as  usual.  "  Well,  how  do  you  think  they  are  getting  on  ?  " 
she  asked  carelessly. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  replied  Richard,  "  till  I've  got  several 
other  reactions." 

"  Helen  and  Basil,  I  mean." 

"  How  should  I  know  ?    All  right,  I  suppose." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me,  a  week  or  so  ago,  you  thought 
it  was  a  match  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it's  a  match,"  said  he,  as  if  there  weren't 
a  doubt  about  it. 

She  quivered  at  this  pressure  upon  the  thorn  that  was 
pricking  and  festering.  "  Why  are  you  so  positive  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  You  know  as  much  as  I  do.  He  goes  out  to  meet  her 
every  morning,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

Every  morning!  To  smoke!  In  a  series  of  internal 
explosions  whose  flames  scorched  her  soul  she  traced  the 
progress  of  that  smoking  habit  of  his.  With  an  outer 
calmness  that  amazed  her  she  pursued  her  inquiries.  "  Are 
they — affectionate  when  they're  alone  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  How?  "     Richard's  mind  was  back  at  his  experiments. 

She  repeated  her  question  in  a  voice  that  was  under 
still  better  control. 

"  I've  never  seen  them  but  once — one  day  when  he  was 
helping  her  balance  herself  at  the  edge  of  the  wall — she 
was  pretending  to  look  down  into  the  water  at  something — 
the  old  trick." 

Courtney  laughed.  "  The  old  trick— yes."  She  laughed 
again. 

"  It's  all  settled,  no  doubt,"  declared  Richard.  "  And 
good  business !  " 

306 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Courtney  hurled  a  glance  of  fury  at  him.  "  Unless  he's 
making  a  fool  of  her." 

"  Oh — absurd.    He's  a  gentleman." 

"  Gentleman.  That  sounds  as  if  it  meant  a  lot,  but 
does  it?  " 

Richard  wished  to  think  of  his  work  uninterrupted  by 
this  trifle  of  a  love  affair.  "  Why  not  ask  her  about  it? 
She's  no  doubt  dying  to  tell — if  you  give  her  the  excuse  of 
opening  the  subject." 

Courtney  went  up  to  her  balcony,  seated  herself  in  a 
rocking-chair.  She  rocked  and  thought,  thought,  thought — 
getting  nowhere,  motion  without  progress,  like  that  of  her 
chair.  She  did  all  the  talking  at  dinner  that  day.  She 
took  the  relations  of  men  and  women  for  her  subject  and 
shot  arrows  of  wit  at  it.  As  Winchie  was  having  dinner 
next  door  with  the  Donaldson  children,  she  did  not  need 
to  restrain  herself.  She  was  mocking,  cynical,  audacious. 
Basil  stopped  laughing  and  stared  at  his  plate.  Helen,  all 
blushes,  looked  as  if  she  would  sink  under  the  table.  Rich- 
ard remained  calm — he  was  not  hearing  a  word.  Basil's 
gloom  and  Helen's  shocked  modesty  delighted  Courtney, 
edged  her  on  to  further  audacities.  She  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  smiling,  jeering  at  them — and  she  rattled  on 
and  on,  because  she  felt  that  if  she  stopped  scoffing  and 
laughing,  she  would  spring  at  him  or  at  her.  She  had  the 
longing  to  do  physical  violence,  like  one  in  the  torment  of 
a  toothache. 

Richard  and  Basil  had  not  been  gone  many  minutes  be- 
fore she  began  on  the  unconscious  Helen.  A  sigh  gave  her 
the  opening.  "  Unhappy?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  Helen.  "  If  anything,  too 
happy.  You  know  what  this  life  here  means  to  me." 

"  But  you  must  find  it  lonely." 
307 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Lonely !    Not  for  an  instant." 

"  We've  had  almost  no  company  this  winter  and  spring. 
I  must  hunt  up  some  young  men  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  them,  as  I've  often  told  you."  Courtney 
remembered  that  she  had,  and  muttered,  "  What  a  blind  fool 
I've  been."  Helen  went  sweetly  on:  "  Beside  such  men  as 
Richard  and  Mr.  Gallatin,  the  ordinary  young  man  is  any- 
thing but  interesting." 

"  Still,  you  must  marry.  And  you've  got  the  looks  to 
make  a  first-rate  bargain." 

Helen  looked  gently  disapproving  of  this  frank  mode 
of  stating  the  case.  "  I  could  never  marry  for  anything 
but  love." 

"  Of  course.  But,  being  a  well-brought-up  woman, 
you'll  not  have  difficulty  in  loving  any  proper  candi- 
date." 

"  I'm  well  content." 

Courtney  bent  low  over  the  scarlet  and  pink  and  white 
tulips  in  one  of  the  window  boxes.  Content!  This  woman 
who  was  stealing  her  lover — this  woman  who  was  thrusting 
her  back  into  the  despair  of  those  loveless,  hopeless  days 
when  Basil  was  gone  and  the  icy  rains  poured  on  and  on 
upon  her  desolate  life!  She  controlled  herself,  repeated 
vaguely:  "  Content?  Impossible  unless  you've  got  your  eye 
on  a  likely  man.  No  single  woman  ever  was  since  the  world 
began." 

Helen  blushed  consciously. 

"  Who  is  he?  "  teased  Courtney.  She  had  seen  the  blush, 
and  her  nerves  were  twitching.  "  Who  is  it?  "  she  repeated 
softly.  "Basil?" 

The  blush  deepened. 

"  I  thought  so !  "  exclaimed  Courtney  with  laughing  tri- 
umph. "You've  yielded  to  his  fascinations,  have  you?" 

308 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Helen  paled  and  her  lip  trembled.  "  Please  don't/'  she 
faltered.  "  Don't  joke  me  about — about  him." 

Courtney  turned  hastily  away  to  hide  the  devil  that 
gleamed  from  her  eyes;  for  she  felt  that  her  worst  sus- 
picions were  confirmed.  "  Tell  me,"  she  said,  as  soon  as 
she  could  find  voice,  and  could  make  that  voice  gay  with 
good-humored  raillery,  "  how  long  has  this — this  idyll  been 
going  on?  " 

"  Really — you're  quite  mistaken,  dear,"  pleaded  Helen. 

"  How  long  have  you  and  he  been  keeping  those 
trysts  ?  " 

"  You're  quite  wrong.  We've  met  by  accident,"  pro- 
tested Helen.  "We  just  happen  to  meet."  She  hung  her 
head.  "  I'll  admit  I — I  arrange  to  go  to  look  at  the  apart- 
ment about  the  time  I  know  he  comes  out  to  smoke." 

Courtney  was  all  smiles.  "  And  he  arranges  to  come 
out  to  smoke  about  the  time  he  knows  you're  going  to  the 
apartment.  How — delicious  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  he  does  it  deliberately?  "  inquired  Helen 
eagerly. 

Courtney  was  amazed  at  the  girl's  skill  in  duplicity. 
She  began  to  wonder  how  far  they  had  gone.  But  her  face 
was  bright  and  innocent  as  a  poison  locust  bloom  when  she 
said :  "  You  sly  child !  What  were  you  and  he  doing  in  his 
apartment  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Helen,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Courtney's  features  were  distorted  with  fear  and  fury; 
the  specter  was  stalking  and  leering.  But  her  voice  sounded 
soft  and  seductive  as  she  urged :  "  Go  on,  dear.  You  needn't 
be  afraid  to  tell  me — everything." 

Helen  lifted  her  flaming  face.  "  There's  nothing  to 
tell,"  cried  she.  "  When  you  asked  me  that  question,  some- 
thing in  your  tone  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  done  a — a  wick- 

309 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

edly  indiscreet  thing.  But  it  was  all  so  harmless  and  acci- 
dental. I  came  earlier  than  usual,  and  he  was  getting  the 
cigarette  case  he'd  forgotten." 

"  Highly  probable !  "  exclaimed  Courtney,  apparently 
much  amused.  "  And  so,  you  could  make  love  to  each  other 
at  your  ease." 

"  Courtney !  "  Helen  started  up,  horror-stricken.  "  Can 
you  think  I'd  let  him  lay  the  weight  of  his  finger  on  me?  " 
And  she  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  what  have  I  done !  "  she 
sobbed.  "  And  it  seemed  perfectly  innocent." 

Insane  with  jealousy  though  she  was,  Courtney  could 
not  but  be  convinced.  "  Don't  take  it  so  to  heart,  my  dear," 
said  she.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"And  you  could  suspect  me!  But  I  deserve  it.  If  I'd 
been  really  a  good  woman,  I'd  not  have  thought  of  him 
until  he  had  spoken  to  me." 

"  Dry  your  eyes,"  said  Courtney,  calm  and  practical. 
"  How  far  has  this  gone  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  declared  Helen.  "  We've  never  said  a 
word  of  love  to  each  other." 

"Is  that  the  truth?" 

"As  God  is  my  judge." 

"  Not  a  kiss — no  hand-holding?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"Only  looks?" 

"  Sometimes — I've  hoped — from  the  way  he  looked — ' 
She  sighed.     "  But  I'm  afraid  he  meant  nothing." 

Courtney  studied  her  ingenuous  face  as  a  bank  teller  a 
note  that  is  under  suspicion  of  being  counterfeit.  Yes — 
Helen  was  telling  the  truth. 

"  Do  you  think  he  cares?  "  asked  Helen  wistfully.  "  He 
seems  to  like  to  talk  with  me.  And  he's  very  eloquent  about 
sentimental  things.  He  talks  and  he  acts  like  a  man  in 

310 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

love.      But — at   times   I   feel  as  if   it   were   with  another 
woman." 

Courtney  buried  her  face  in  the  urn  of  violets.  And 
next  io  her  feeling  of  enormous  relief  at  the  clearing  of 
Basil  from  the  worst  charge  against  him  was  gratitude  that 
she  would  not  have  to  try  to  play  the  tyrant — try  to  send 
Helen  away. 

"  It  may  be  some  bad  woman's  gotten  hold  of  him," 
continued  the  girl  reflectively.  "  He  may  be  chained  by  a 
love  he's  ashamed  of." 

"  That  sounds  like  a  weekly  story  paper." 

"  I  know  there's  some  weight  on  his  conscience,"  main- 
tained Helen. 

Courtney  looked  strangely  at  her  and  laughed.  "  When 
people  look  and  talk  remorse,  they're  only  boasting.  He's 
trying  to  make  himself  interesting,  my  dear.  He  wants  to 
thrill  you  with  the  story  of  his  life — some  commonplace 
adventure  he  exaggerates  into  an  epic  drama."  She 
laughed  again,  most  unpleasantly.  "  Heaven  deliver  me 
from  these  '  My  God !  How  she  loves  me  '  men !  " 

"  He's  not  like  that — not  at  all,"  protested  Helen. 
*'  But — oh,  I  wish  I  knew  whether  he  cared  for  me.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do!  I've  given  him  every  opportu- 
nity— "  She  stopped  short  with  such  an  expression  of 
horror  at  her  slip  that  Courtney  laughed  outright.  "  I  don't 
mean  I've  done  anything  forward  or  unladylike — "  stam- 
mered Helen. 

"  He's  a  man  of  the  world."  She  pinched  Helen's  cheek. 
"  He  reads  that  innocent  little  mind  of  yours  like  an  electric 
sign." 

Helen  was  hysterical  with  dismay.  "  You  think  he's 
laughing  at  me  ?  " 

"  And  getting  ready  to — to  amuse  himself." 
311 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Courtney !  " 

Courtney  nodded  and  smiled. 

"  He  never  could  think  so  lightly  of  me.     Never !  " 

"  Lightly  ?  He  sees  you  are  in  love  with  him.  Why 
should  he  suspect  you  of  being  calculating  ?  " 

"  Calculating?     I  don't  understand." 

"  Unwilling  to  give  except  for  an  annuity — for  life 
support." 

Helen's  honest  brown  eyes  were  big  and  round.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  What  I  say/'  was  Courtney's  reply.  And  in  a,  to 
Helen,  appallingly  matter-of-fact  way,  she  went  on  to  ex- 
plain. "  And  what  I  say  is  simply  the  sense  under  all  the 
nonsense  about  marrying.  You  want  to  marry,  don't  you? 
You're  looking  about  for  somebody  to  support  you  and  your 
children,  aren't  you?  You  say  you  love  our  homely,  fas- 
cinating, well-to-do  friend  Gallatin.  But  not  enough  to  go 
very  far  unless  he'd  sign  a  life  contract.  Didn't  I  hear 
you  say  one  day  that  you  didn't  think  it  proper  for  people 
even  to  kiss  until  the  preacher  had  dropped  the  flag?  " 

*  Helen  gazed  at  her  with  an  expression  of  sheer  horri- 
fied amazement  that  delighted  her.  "  How  can  as  sweet 
and  pure  a  woman  as  you  talk  that  way?  " 

Courtney  laughed  gayly.  "  Because  she's  neither  svreet 
nor  pure.  Because  she's  got  intelligence  and  experience. 
I  just  wanted  to  show  you  that  while  you  were  pretending 
to  think  about  love — ideal,  romantic,  unselfish  love,  you 
were  really  planning  for  food,  clothing  and  shelter." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  hear  such  talk !  "  cried  Helen. 
"  If  I'm  deluded,  why,  let  me  stay  so.  You  are  so  frivo- 
lous, Courtney !  Don't  you  believe  in  love  at  all  ?  " 

Courtney  reflected.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or 
not,"  she  finally  said. 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Helen  looked  at  her  with  sad  sympathy.  "  And  I 
thought  you  were  happy !  "  she  sighed. 

"I  am/'  rejoined  Courtney.  "And  I  purpose  to  re- 
main so." 

"  But  you  are  worried  about  me?  You  think  Bas — 
Mr.  Gallatin  is  not  a  fit  man  for  me  to  marry?  "  The  tone 
betrayed  her  anxiety,  the  importance  she  attached  to  Court- 
ney's judgment;  for,  while  Helen's  conventional  mind  told 
her  that  Courtney  was  a  "  light-weight/'  like  all  lively, 
laughing  persons,  her  instinct  made  her  always  consult  her 
before  acting  in  any  matter  from  a  man  to  what  hat  to  wear 
with  what  dress.  "  You  think  he's — not  nice  ?  " 

Courtney  felt  Helen's  nearly  breathless  expectation; 
she  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  she  did  it  was  from 
the  farther  side  of  the  room,  with  her  attention  apparently 
on  a  window  garden  of  hyacinths.  "  Be  careful,  my  dear. 
Remember,  your  primness  is  your  chief  asset.  If  he  thought 
— or  hoped — you  were — loose " 

"  Loose !  "  Helen  trembled,  looked  as  if  she  were  about 
to  faint. 

"  It's  ridiculous  the  way  we  women  exaggerate  the  value 
of  our  favors,"  philosophized  Courtney. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  that  kind  of — of  jests, 
dear,"  pleaded  Helen.  "  I  know  you  don't  mean  a  word  of 
it.  You  feel  just  as  I  do — that  a  man  couldn't  do  enough 
to  repay  any  good  woman  for  giving  herself  to  him." 

"  Or  a  woman  do  enough  to  repay  a  man  for  giving 
himself  to  her,"  retorted  Courtney.  "  The  account's  even, 
or  the  whole  thing's  too  low  to  talk  about.  Still — you  don't 
understand — you  can't.  And  so  long  as  men  think  a 
woman  the  grander  the  more  conceited  and  selfish  she  is, 
you're  as  well  off,  believing  as  you  do.  ...  As  to  Gal- 
latin  " 

313 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  him!"  cried  Helen. 
"  What  you've  been  saying  has  given  me  such  a  shock." 
She  paused,  then  went  on  in  a  low,  awful  tone,  "  Courtney, 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  was  alone  with  him  in  his  sitting 
room  for  over  an  hour !  " 

"When?"  asked  Courtney,  sharply. 

"  To-day — what  we  were  talking  about." 

"  Only  to-day  ?  " 

"  Never  before !  "  exclaimed  Helen.    "  And  never  again." 

"  Then  —  perhaps  —  only  perhaps,  mind  you,"  mocked 
Courtney,  "  I'll  put  off  speaking  to  Richard  about  it — and 
writing  Mrs.  Torrey." 

Helen  could  not  see  any  humor  in  the  situation.  "  Do 
you  honestly  believe,  Courtney,"  she  asked  in  deep  distress, 
"  that  he  could  have  thought  of  me  as  if  I  were — were  a — 
a — bad  woman  ?  " 

Courtney's  eyes  were  most  unpleasant. 

"  I  see  you're  disgusted  and  angry  with  me,  dear,"  said 
Helen,  in  tears  again.  "  I  know  it  was  unwomanly  of  me 
to  think  of  him  when  he'd  said  nothing.  But  I — I  couldn't 
help  it.  I  will  help  it,  though !  " 

"  You  think  you  can  ?  " 

Helen  showed  she  was  astonished  and  hurt.  "  Do  you 
imagine  7  could  care  for  a  man  whose  way  of  caring  for  me 
was  an  insult?  " 

Courtney  counseled  with  a  vase  of  jonquils.  "  No,  I 
suppose  you  couldn't,"  she  replied.  "  You  don't  know  about 
wild,  free — fierce — love —  Do  you  ?  " 

Helen's  expression  was  of  one  appalled.  "  How  can 
you  talk  that  way?  "  she  asked.  "  You're  very  strange  to- 
day. You're  not  at  all  yourself." 

"  Self !  "  exclaimed  Courtney,  scornfully.  "  What  is  my 
self?  What  is  your  self?  What  is  anybody's  self?  " 

314 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  no  longer  had  the  delusion  of  free  will  that  makes 
us  talk  about  bettering  the  race  by  "  changing  human  nature 
from  within  " — the  delusion  that  the  individual  is  respon- 
sible, though  obviously  the  social  system  and  the  other  com- 
pelling external  conditions  move  the  individual  as  the  show- 
man his  puppet.  She,  helpless  in  the  whirl  of  strong 
emotions,  was  beginning  to  understand  why,  at  the  outset 
of  her  married  life,  instinct  had  bade  her  arrange  all  the 
circumstances  round  her  and  Richard  so  that  they  would 
be  compelled  to  live  the  life  in  common,  the  life  of  the  single 
common  interest  that  holds  love  captive  as  the  cage  the  bird. 
She  was  beginning  to  realize  how  like  water  self  is  in  the 
grip  of  circumstances — how  self  is  mill  pond  or  torrent, 
pure  or  foul,  or  mixture  of  the  two,  according  as  circumstance 
commands.  These  demon  impulses — they  were  not  her  self. 
Self  was  amazed  onlooker  at  its  own  strange  doings — was 
like  helpless  occupant  of  the  carriage  behind  the  runaway 
team. 

When  Helen  spoke  again,  she  showed  that  her  thoughts 
were  still  lingering  longingly  where  they  must  not,  if 
Courtney  was  to  be  rid  of  the  demons.  "  But  if  a  man  loves 
a  woman,"  said  Helen,  "  why  shouldn't  he  be  glad  to  give 
her  honorable  marriage  ?  " 

Courtney  hesitated,  dared.  "  She  might  be  already 
married." 

"  Courtney !  "  And  her  horrified  eyes  told  Courtney 
she  had  caught  the  intended  hint  that  Basil  was  in  love 
with  some  married  woman.  "  It  isn't  possible !  " 

"  Haven't  such  things  happened?  " 

"  Yes — but —  No  married  woman  a  nice  man  would 
notice  would  ever  think  of  another  man  than  her  hus- 
band." 

"  I  don't  know  about  a  '  nice  '  woman,"  said  Courtney, 
315 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

slowly.  "  But  I  can  imagine  that  a  human  woman — if 
her  husband  neglected  her,  and  chilled  and  killed  her 
love " 

Helen  was  not  listening,  was  not  aware  that  she  had 
interrupted  as  she  said,  "  Do  you  think  Mr.  Gallatin  could 
be  in  love  with  some  married  woman — of — of  our  class  ?  " 

"  I  suspect  so,"  replied  Courtney,  gazing  calmly  into 
her  eyes. 

"I'll  not  believe  it!"  cried  Helen.  "I'll  not  be- 
lieve it !  " 

"  You're  like  all  girls.  Because  your  own  head's  full 
of  marriage,  you  think  every  man  who's  polite  to  you,  or 
flirts  a  little  to  make  the  time  pass  more  agreeably,  is  about 
to  send  for  the  preacher.  Now,  frankly,  has  Basil  ever 
made  love  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  admitted  Helen.     "  But — "     She  halted. 

"  But  what?  "  came  from  Courtney  sharp  and  arresting 
as  a  shot. 

"  I  feel  he  is  fond  of  me,"  confessed  Helen. 

Courtney  laughed  harshly.  "  All  men  are  fond  of  all 
good-looking  women — especially  in  the  spring.  Don't  be  a 
fool,  Helen." 

"  But  a  married  woman  has  no  right  to  him !  " 

Courtney  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "  And  how  do 
you  know?  And  what  right  have  you  to  judge?  Are  you 
God?" 

"  No,  but " 

"  No !  "  cried  Courtney.  "  How  do  you  know  what  he 
— his  love  may  mean  to  her?  How  do  you  know  but  what 
it  may  be  the  one  thing  between  her  and  despair  and  ruin? 
You,  with  your  timid,  proper  calculating  little  love !  Why, 
if  the  woman  cared  enough  for  him — needed  him  so — that 
she  sacrificed  self-respect — honor — truth — all — all — for 

316 


love — what  could  you  give  him  to  replace  it?     And  what 
are  your  needs  beside  hers  ?  " 

Helen's  face  grew  hard  as  these  words  that  outraged 
every  principle  of  her  training  poured  recklessly  from 
Courtney's  lips.  "  I'm  astounded  at  your  defending  a  bad 
woman,"  she  said.  "  You're  too  generous,  Courtney.  You'd 
feel  differently  if  she  were  taking  Richard  away  from  you. 
But,  I'm  not  in  love  with  Basil.  I  see  you  know  things 
about  him.  I — I — despise  him.  I  pity  him,  of  course,  for 
he  might  have  been  a  nice  man.  But  I  couldn't  love  him. 
I'm  glad  you  told  me.  I  might  have  engaged  myself  to 
him." 

Courtney's  far  from  sane  eyes  twinkled  at  that  last  in- 
genuous bit  of  maidenly  vanity.  Helen  went  about  her 
work,  and  she  departed  to  the  greenhouse.  "  She'll  stop 
loving  him  as  easily  as  she  began,"  said  she  to  herself. 
"  What  does  her  sort  of  women  know  about  love?  They're 
faithful  to  whatever  man  they  marry,  as  a  dog's  faithful  to 
whoever  feeds  and  kennels  it.  ...  Basil  Gallatin  is  mine  I 
And  no  man — nor  no  woman — shall  come  between  us." 

She  had  not  forgotten  Basil's  expression  as  he  stood  in 
the  apartment  entrance,  after  his  tete-a-tete  with  Helen. 
"  Now — for  what's  in  his  heart,"  she  said.  "  I  must  know 
just  where  I  stand."  She  recalled  how  she  had  used  to 
say,  and  to  think,  that  if  a  man  was  not  freely  a  woman's — 
freely  —  inevitably  —  without  any  need  of  being  held  by 
feminine  artifice — no  self-respecting  woman  could  for  an  in- 
stant wish  to  detain  him.  And  here  she  was,  ready  to  make 
any  sacrifice  to  hold  this  man.  Truly,  fate  seemed  deter- 
mined to  compel  her  to  give  the  lie  to  everything  she 
had  ever  believed,  to  abase  every  instinct  of  pride  that 
had  plumed  or  still  plumed  the  haughty  front  of  her 
soul. 

21  317 


Richard  asked  Helen  up  to  his  study  after  supper,  to 
take  dictation  of  an  article  he  was  doing  for  a  scientific 
magazine;  thus,  Courtney  had  a  chance  to  explore  Basil. 
She  was  seated  beneath  the  tall  lamp,  a  big  hat  frame  on 
her  lap,  ribbon  and  feathers  on  the  small  table.  She  knew 
he  was  watching  her  over  the  top  of  a  newspaper;  and  she 
was  not  insensible  to  his  extremely  flattering  expression- — 
nor,  perhaps,  to  the  advantages  her  occupation  gave  her  in 
the  way  of  graceful  gestures,  effective  posings  of  the  head 
and  arms  as  she  studied  the  effect  of  different  arrangements 
of  ribbon  and  feathers.  She  glanced  directly  at  him;  he 
glanced  away,  confused — the  frightened  zigzag  of  a  flushed 
partridge. 

"Well?  "  said  she.  She  felt  more  lenient  toward  him, 
now  that  she  had  discovered  his  innocence  of  overt  treach- 
ery, at  least;  and  the  way  he  was  looking  at  her  when  he 
fancied  her  quite  unaware  was  certainly  reassuring.  Also, 
she  realized  now  that  she  herself  was  largely  responsible 
for  these  errant  springtime  thoughts  of  his — she  with  her 
struggling  to  keep  both  love  and  self-respect.  "Well?" 
she  repeated,  when  he  did  not  speak.  "  What  guilty  thought 
did  I  almost  surprise?  " 

"  No  guilty  thought,"  replied  he.  "  I  was  loving  you — 
terribly  —  just  then.  I  was  thinking  —  how  impossible  it 
would  be  for  a  man  who  loved  you  ever  to  wander." 

"  That's  very  nice,"  said  she,  with  a  mocking  smile. 
"  So  you  have  been — looking  over  the  fence  ?  "  And  she 
went  .on  with  bending  the  brim  of  the  hat  frame  to  a  more 
graceful  curve.  She  was  placid  to  all  appearances;  but 
once  more  the  great  dread  was  obsessing  her. 

"  Not  at  all,"  protested  he.     "  What  fence?    At  whom?  " 

"  The  fence  of  our  compact — perhaps." 

He  sighed  impatiently. 

318 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Ah — well — "  She  laughed,  eying  the  result  of  her 
shaping,  the  hat  frame  at  one  angle,  her  head  at  the  oppo- 
site angle —  "  there's  Helen." 

He  locked  grave  reproach  at  her,  altogether  absorbed 
in  trying  a  long  plume  against  the  frame  in  different 
positions.  "  Do  you  think,  dear,  it's  quite  respectful  to 
Helen " 

"  Your  thoughts  couldn't  harm  her,"  interrupted  she 
— that  is,  she  interrupted  him,  but  not  her  work.  "If  men's 
thoughts  smirched  women,  what  an  unsightly  lot  the  attrac- 
tive ones  would  be !  " 

"  Where  did  you  get  such  ideas  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  trying 
to  conceal  how  her  frankness  had  scandalized  him. 

She  worked  on  calmly.  "  By  observing  and  reading 
and  thinking — and  feeling." 

He  drummed  uneasily  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair  with 
the  tips  of  his  fingers.  At  length  he  said  with  some  embar- 
rassment, "  It's  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  I  have 
the  highest  respect  for  Helen." 

"  Yes — and  I  also  know  she's  very — very  pretty." 

"  Yes,  she  is  pretty." 

"  You  respect  her.  You  like  to  talk  with  her.  You 
think  she  is  physically  attractive." 

Stiffly,  "  I  have  never  thought  about  her  in  that  last 
way." 

"  Then,  that's  probably  her  chief  charm  for  you," 
observed  Courtney,  placid  and  reflective  and  industrious. 
"  When  we  think  we  don't  think  about  things  that  are 
worth  thinking  about,  the  chances  are  we  really  haven't 
been  thinking  about  anything  else."  With  a  smile  and  a 
shake  of  the  head  that  might  have  been  for  the  plumes 
which  refused  to  please  her,  "  I'm  afraid  you're  falling 
in  love  with  Helen." 

319 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  No,"  replied  he  judicially — and  how  he  would  have 
been  startled  if  he  had  seen  her  veiled  eyes ! — shiny  green 
and  cruel  as  those  of  a  puma  stretched  in  graceful  ferocity 
along  the  leafy  limb  that  overhangs  the  path.  "  No,  I'm 
not  the  least  in  love  with  her.  But  I  do  like  her.  Her 
seriousness  is  very  pleasant,  now  and  then.  If  I  did  not 
love  you,  I  perhaps  might  have  grown  to  care  for  her,  in 
a  way.  But — beside  you,  Helen  is — tame." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  her  tame — "  encouragingly. 

"  Well — perhaps  not.  She  sometimes  suggests  a  per- 
son who  could  be  waked  up." 

"  That's  a  temptation,  isn't  it?  "  she  asked.  And  she 
looked  straight  at  him  over  the  top  of  the  plumes.  She 
wished  to  see  all. 

"  No,"  said  he,  positively.  "  To  be  quite  frank  I'd  never 
give  her  as  a  woman  a  thought — if  I  weren't — "  He  stirred 
uneasily,  burst  out  in  confession.  "  You  were  right  a  while 
ago.  Men  often  don't  understand  themselves.  But  we'll 
not  talk  about  that." 

t  There  was  such  love  and  tenderness  in  the  gaze  meeting 
hers  that  all  the  squalid  thoughts  her  mind  had  been  fouled 
with  the  whole  day  washed  away  like  the  dust  and  dirt  on 
the  leaves  and  petals  of  her  flowers  in  a  sudden  rain. 

He  said  with  a  gentle,  manly  earnestness  that  thrilled 
her:  "  There's  only  the  one  woman  for  me.  And — I  want 
our  love  to  be  what  you  wish.  And  it  shall  be !  " 

She  lowered  her  head,  the  tears  welling.  The  others 
interrupted,  and  Helen  sat  beside  her  advising  about  the 
hat.  When  it  was  finished,  she  made  Helen  try  it  on.  They 
all  admired,  and  it  certainly  was  becoming.  "  Now,  you 
try  it  on,  dear,"  said  Helen. 

"  No,  don't  take  it  off,"  Courtney  answered.  "  It's  for 
you,  of  course."  And  she  kissed  her  and,  laughing  away 

320 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

her  thanks,  went  upstairs.  She  sat  down  at  her  dressing 
table  and,  with  elbows  resting  on  it  and  face  supported  by 
her  hands,  gazed  into  her  own  eyes.  "  If  you  do  not  wish 
to  lose  him,"  she  said  slowly  aloud  to  her  grave  face  imaged 
in  the  glass,  "  you  must  take  away  from  him  temptation  to 
wander.  A  door  is  either  open  or  shut.  A  man — a  man 
worth  while — won't  stand  at  the  threshold  long.  He  comes 
in  or  he  goes  away.  Basil  does  not  realize  it,  but  that  other 
side  of  his  nature  will  compel  him  to  go  away — unless — " 
Compel  him  to  go  away?  She  was  hearing  again  the  mo- 
notonous fall  of  those  icy  rains,  was  feeling  again  the  monot- 
onous misery  of  those  days  without  love  and  without  hope. 
She  must  choose.  Choose?  "  The  woman  doesn't  live — 
doesn't  deserve  to  live — who'd  hesitate.  There's  no  choice. 
There's  simply  the  one  way." 

Well — since  it  must  be  so — what  would  be  the  event? 
Would  she  lose  him  anyhow?  Would  she  merely  be  putting 
off  his  going?  Would  her  complete  yielding  end  in  dis- 
aster of  some  kind,  as  she  had  feared?  Or,  wasn't  it  pos- 
sible that,  while  most  people  were  tangled  and  finally  stran- 
gled by  the  web  of  their  own  deceit,  a  skillful  few  could 
use  it  dextrously  to  snare  the  bright  birds  of  joy?  .  .  .  She 
stood  up,  stretched  her  arms,  swayed  her  slim  supple  figure 
gently.  "  He  shall  have  no  reason  for  letting  one  single 
thought  wander.  He  shall  be  mine — all  mine!  I'll  take 
no  more  risks."  She  continued  to  sway  gently,  her  eyes 
closed.  A  look  of  scorn,  of  disgust  came  into  her  face. 
She  shuddered.  "  How  hideous  it  is  to  be  a  woman !  Al- 
ways slave  to  some  man !  Gold  fetters  cut  as  deep  as  iron, 
and  they're  heavier."  She  stopped  swaying.  "  I  can  see 
how  I  might  come  to  hate  my  master  in  trying  to  hold  his 
love.  .  .  .  Love !  To  keep  our  love  warm,  we  have  to  bury 
it  in  the  mire." 

321 


XX 

BECAUSE  of  the  light  the  tables  in  the  inner  laboratory 
were  so  placed  that  Courtney  and  Basil  worked  at  opposite 
sides  of  the  room  with  their  backs  toward  each  other.  As 
ten  o'clock  approached  her  agitation  increased ;  but  the  only 
outward  sign  was  frequent  stolen  glances  at  the  clock  on 
the  wall  between  the  windows.  When  the  hands  pointed 
to  ten,  her  heart  fluttered;  for,  she  heard  him  push  back 
his  chair  and  knew  he  was  rising  from  his  case.  He  stood 
at  the  window  toward  her  side  of  the  room.  As  he  was 
gazing  out  over  the  high  sill,  she  was  free  to  look  at  him — 
at  his  back,  at  the  back  of  his  head.  She  felt  the  struggle 
raging  in  his  mind.  Her  hand,  blundering  among  the  bu- 
rettes and  bottles  on  the  glass  shelves  before  her,  tilted  a 
test  tube  from  its  support.  It  fell,  broke  with  a  crash  on 
the  porcelain  surface  of  the  table.  She  gave  a  low  scream 
— it  would  have  been  loud  had  she  not,  swifter  than  thought, 
clenched  her  teeth  and  compressed  her  lips.  He  startled 
violently. 

"  Good  God ! "  he  cried  and  his  tone  showed  that  his 
nerves  were  in  the  same  state  as  hers. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,"  she  murmured,  mechanically  apol- 
ogetic. 

If  he  heard,  he  gave  no  indication  of  it.  He  continued 
to  stand  motionless  at  the  window,  staring  out  over  the  lake. 
She  tried  furtively  to  get  a  glimpse  of  his  profile,  but  could 
not.  At  ten  minutes  past  ten  he  moved.  When  she  saw 
him  about  to  turn,  she  bent  over  her  work — pouring  calcium 
lactophosphate  into  a  small  agate  mortar  as  if  any  relaxing 

322 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

of  attention  would  be  calamitous.  He  was  standing  at  the 
end  of  her  table,  was  looking  down  at  her.  It  took  all  her 
self-control  to  refrain  from  looking  up  to  see  what  was  in 
his  eyes.  He  was  bending  over  her;  his  lips  touched  her 
hair — the  crownlike  coil  of  auburn  on  top  of  her  head.  She 
tingled  to  her  finger  tips ;  she  knew  she  had  won,  knew  he 
had  thought  it  all  out  and  had  seen  that  his  meetings  with 
Helen  were  in  the  direction  of  disloyalty  to  the  woman  he 
loved.  She  looked  up  at  him  now.  At  first  his  expression 
was  guilty  and  embarrassed,  but  the  radiance  of  love  and 
trust  in  her  eyes  soon  changed  that.  He  became  very  pale 
as  his  glance  burned  into  hers;  he  turned  away,  and  she 
felt  that  it  was  because  he  feared  lest  in  the  rush  of  peni- 
tent passion  he  would  confess  things  it  was  unnecessary  and 
unwise  to  put  into  words. 

"  Why,  it's  ten  o'clock,"  said  she  carelessly.  "  Aren't 
you  going  out  to  smoke?  " 

A  pause,  then  he  answered  "  Not  to-day  "  in  a  boyishly 
ill-at-ease  way  that  brought  a  secret  tender  smile  to  her 
lips.  She  liked  these  evidences  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  conceal  himself  from  her  because  any  attempt  to  do 
so  made  him  feel  dishonorable. 

"  It's  beautiful  outdoors.     I'll  go  with  you." 

"  No,  not  just  now,  Courtney.  I — I — that  is,  I  think 
I'd  best  finish.  Vaughan  may  need  all  four  of  the  sulphates 
any  moment."  And  he  sat  down  before  his  case  and  began 
to  fuss  with  evaporating  dishes  and  crucibles. 

"  This  is  the  first  day  you've  missed  in  I  don't  know 
when,"  said  she.  It  was  just  as  well  he  should  know  she 
had  begun  to  take  note  of  his  habit ;  that  knowledge  would 
strengthen  his  resolve  to  avoid  in  the  future  appearance  of 
of  evil  and  temptation  thereto.  "  You've  been  very  regular 
for  weeks." 

323 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  It's  a  waste  of  time,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause. 
"  You're  right,  uninterrupted  effort's  the  only  kind  that 
counts."  And  both  went  to  work. 

But  Courtney  did  not  overestimate  her  triumph.  Often 
day  completely  reverses  the  night  view  of  things.  But 
now,  in  the  fancy-dispelling  day  more  clearly  than  in  the 
fancy-breeding  night,  she  saw  she  must  remove  the  tempta- 
tion. If  she  had  been  a  small  or  a  stupid  woman — or  both, 
for  the  two  qualities  usually  go  together — she  would  have 
laid  all  the  blame  upon  Helen  and  would  have  sent  her 
away — and  in  vanity  as  to  her  power  over  him  would  have 
imagined  herself  once  more  perfectly  secure.  But  the  im- 
pulse to  blame  Helen  and  to  get  rid  of  her  did  not  survive 
the  second  thought.  It  was  not  Helen's  fault,  or  Basil's; 
it  was  nature's. 

Looking  back  on  those  months  under  the  compact  she 
saw  how  she  had  let  foolish  vanity  and  still  more  foolish 
hope  befog  and  mislead  her  intelligence.  To  remove  Helen 
would  avail  her  nothing.  The  law  of  his  nature  would  con- 
tinue to  press  him  on;  and  sooner  or  later,  in  spite  of  love 
for  her,  in  spite  of  loyalty,  in  spite  of  constancy,  he  would 
be  swept  away  from  her.  The  compact  was  a  beautiful 
ideal,  but  it  was  not  life — and,  so,  it  must  yield.  "  I  must 
be  all  to  him,  or  I  shall  soon  be  nothing  to  him."  And 
that  afternoon  she  fixed  her  resolution — after  thinking  the 
situation  out  sanely — as  sanely  as  she  could  think  in  those 
days.  For  she,  completely  possessed  by  her  need  of  Basil, 
was  like  all  the  infatuated.  That  is,  she  was  in  a  state  not 
unlike  those  demented  persons  who  seem  to  be,  and  are, 
quite  sane  and  logical  and  self-possessed,  once  you  get  be- 
yond the  fixed  delusion  which  determines  the  posture  and 
outlook  of  their  entire  being. 

On  the  way  to  dress  for  supper  she  glanced  in  at  Helen's 
324 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

open  door.  The  girl  was  sitting  near  a  window  giving  upon 
the  small  west  balcony,  her  attitude  so  disconsolate  that 
Courtney  was  at  once  striving  with  a  rising  wave  of  pity 
and  self-reproach.  "  Helen  will  soon  get  over  it,"  she  re- 
assured herself;  and  good  sense  reminded  her  that  a  young 
girl  has  not  the  experience  of  love  which  teaches  the  expe- 
rienced woman  to  value  it  and  makes  her  unable  to  do  with- 
out it.  "  The  love-sickness  of  a  young  girl,  especially  prim, 
unimaginative  girls  like  Helen,  isn't  really  personal;  it's 
little  more  than  a  longing  to  be  flattered  and  to  get  married 
and  settled."  But  such  small  progress  as  head  was  making 
against  heart  was  lost  when  Helen  looked  at  her  with  a 
pathetic  attempt  to  smile. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  day  ?  "  asked  Courtney,  eyes 
sinking  before  Helen's.  She  felt  a  most  uncomfortable 
contempt  for  herself. 

"  In  Wenona  —  lunching  and  shopping  with  Bertha 
Watrous." 

Courtney  entered,  seated  herself  on  the  bed.  Despite 
her  lovelorn  condition,  Helen  winced.  "  You  old  maid, 
you,"  laughed  Courtney,  rising.  "  I  never  saw  any  woman 
anywhere,  not  even  old  Nanny,  not  even  my  sister  Ann,  so 
opposed  to  sitting  on  the  bed." 

"  I've  been  brought  up  to  think  it  was — wasn't  right," 
apologized  Helen. 

"  Wasn't  ladylike,  you  mean,"  said  Courtney.  She  dis- 
posed herself  in  the  window  seat.  "  What  are  you  blue 
about,  dear?"  She  knew  she  was  not  intruding;  Helen 
liked  to  confide  her  troubles — and  people  of  that  fortunate 
temperament  were  cured  by  confiding. 

"  I'm  not  blue,"  declared  Helen.  "  I've  simply  been 
thinking  of  what  you  said,  and  if  anything  I'm  angry." 

"Oh — Basil?     Did  you  see  him  to-day?" 
325 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  did  not."  Helen  tossed  her  head.  "  I  went 
about  my  work  as  usual — went  to  the  apartment.  If 
he'd  been  lying  in  wait  I  was  ready  for  him.  But  he 
wasn't." 

Courtney  understood  what  this  really  meant,  though 
Helen  didn't.  Probably  Helen  would  not  have  believed 
she  had  in  fact  lain  in  wait  for  Basil,  even  had  Courtney 
pointed  out  to  her  the  obvious  meaning  of  her  action.  She 
was  of  the  large  majority — who  do  not  know  their  own, 
minds,  who  cannot  explore  them  with  a  guide  however 
competent,  who  when  shown  their  own  motives  hotly  and 
honestly  deny.  "  Basil  was  busy  to-day,"  Courtney  ex- 
plained. "  Some  sulphates  Richard  was  in  a  hurry 
for." 

Helen  looked  relieved.  But,  still  not  in  the  least  aware 
of  her  own  state  of  mind,  she  went  on,  with  a  toss  of  the 
head:  "Well — whenever  I  do  see  him  alone,  I'll  make  him 
realize  I'm  not  the  sort  he  thinks.  The  more  I  look  at  it, 
Courtney,  the  more  convinced  I  am  that  he  was  simply  lead- 
ing me  on." 

"  Now,  Helen !  "  laughed  Courtney. 

Helen  colored.  "  I  admit,"  she  said,  shamefacedly,  "  I 
got  what  I  deserved  for  being  so — so  forward." 

"  That's  the  truth — you  were  forward."  Courtney's 
ione  made  this  necessary  thrusting  home  of  the  painful 
truth  gentle  but  not  the  less  insistent.  "  We  must  never 
fool  ourselves,  dear.  We  women  can't  afford  to." 

Studying  Helen,  so  clearly  fascinated  still  by  the  idea 
of  winning  the  young  eligible  from  the  East  and  redeeming 
him,  Courtney  realized  that  if  the  girl  was  to  stay  on  there 
in  peace  she  must  be  made  to  see  the  absolute  uselessness  of 
angling.  So  long  as  she  thought  of  Basil  as  a  possibility, 
however  remote,  so  long  would  she  be  in  danger  of  falling 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

utterly  and  miserably  in  love  with  him.  Yes,  Helen  must 
be  cured — but  how?  There  was  no  way.  Not  until  Basil 
was  married  would  Helen  cease  to  hope.  "  For  her  own 
sake,  I  ought  to  send  her  away,"  Courtney  was  thinking  as 
the  two  sat  there  in  silence.  But  Helen  had  no  other  place 
to  go.  True,  she  could  go  out  and  make  her  own  living  as 
a  teacher — Courtney  envied  her  the  training  and  the  cer- 
tificate that  were  practically  a  guaranty  of  independence. 
But  Helen  abhorred  independence,  looked  on  a  woman's 
working,  away  from  the  shelter  of  domesticity,  as  the  Hindu 
looks  on  loss  of  caste.  No,  Helen  must  stay  on,  might  as 
well  stay  on.  .  .  .  An  impossible  situation.  And  from  this 
unanticipated  quarter  came  one  more  imperative  reason 
for  making  Basil  wholly  her  own.  He  must  be  in  such 
a  state  of  mind  that  he  would  do  nothing  to  encourage 
Helen's  hope  to  put  forth  even  the  feeblest  of  its  ready 
sprouts. 

Courtney  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door.  "  I  must 
dress."  She  leaned  against  the  jamb,  her  cheek  upon  her 
crossed  hands.  "  Well,  my  dear,  remember  the  rhyme  about 
the  lady  who  went  for  a  ride  on  a  tiger,  and  how,  when 
they  came  back,  he  had  the  lady  inside." 

"  You're  laughing  at  me,"  reproached  Helen. 

Courtney's  eyes  were  fixed  dreamily  upon  vacancy,  a 
strange  sad  smile  about  her  lips.  "  I  am  not  laughing," 
she  said  slowly.  "  Or,  if  I  am,  it  is  not  at  you.  .  .  .  Not 
at  you,  but  at —  She  could  not  tell  Helen  that  she  was 
drearily  mocking  her  own  entrapped  and  helpless  self. 
"  Take  my  advice,  child.  Don't  ever  lead  a  tiger  out  for 
an  airing." 

Yes,  Helen  should  stay  on,  as  long  as  she  wished  to 
stay.  "  And  hasn't  she  as  much  right  here  as  I — just  tl>! 
same  right?  " 

327 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

At  two  o'clock  that  night,  as  Basil  was  leaving,  he  said 
• — "  You've  hardly  spoken  since  I  came.  Is  it  the  dark- 
ness ?  " 

"  Yes — the  darkness/'  she  replied  in  the  same  under- 
tone— the  doors  were  very  thick,  but  instinct  made  them 
careful  about  speech. 

"  I  never  knew  you  to  be  so  silent — or  so  strange,  now 
that  I  think  of  it."  He  held  her  by  the  shoulders.  "  Court- 
ney, did  you  want  me  to  come  to-night?  " 

She  clung  to  him.     "  Do  you  love  me,  my  Basil  ?  " 

"  How  queer  your  voice  sounds.    Are  you  frightened  ?  " 

"  No — no,  indeed." 

"  Dear,  you're  not  telling  me " 

"  It's  nothing.  Just  a — a  notion.  There  won't  be  so 
much  of  it  next  time.  And  still  less  the  next  time.  And 
soon  I'll  be  quite  accustomed."  , 

"  Yes,  I'm  sure  there's  not  the  least  danger,"  said  he, 
wholly  misunderstanding. 


XXI 

ONE  afternoon  she  was  reading  in  the  hammock  on  the 
balcony  before  the  upper  sitting-room  windows — the  sitting 
room  she  shared  with  Helen  and  Winchie.  She  heard  some 
one  in  the  room,  glanced  up — Richard  was  before  her. 
"  Glad  to  find  you  alone,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  realize  it's 
several  weeks  since  we've  exchanged  so  much  as  a  single 
word  in  private?  " 

"  Something  wrong  at  the  shop  ?  " 

"  No.  I  came  especially  to  talk  with  you.  How'd  you 
like  to  go  away  for  a  week  or  so — to  the  sea  or  the  moun- 
tains ?  We  might  take  that  trip  through  the  Great  Lakes." 

"  I'll  see." 

"  You've  been  working  very  hard  down  at  the  shop. 
And  by  the  way,  you've  caused  an  amazing  improvement 
in  Basil's  work.  He  doesn't  make  those  stupid  mistakes 
any  more.  He  used  to  make  them  every  day.  Yes — 
you've  worked  hard — and  well." 

She  had  no  pleasure  in  these  incredible  compliments 
from  Richard  the  difficult  to  please  in  chemistry.  It  was 
too  disquieting  to  have  him  thus  watchful  and  interested. 

"  Let's  start  at  once,"  he  proposed. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that.  I  hesitate  to  leave  here — 
when  everything's  at  its  best.  In  the  fall — or  next  win- 

"  I  see  you  don't  want  to  go — with  me." 
His  tone  compelled  her  to  look  at  him.     His  eyes — 
grave,  searching — were  fixed  upon  her.     Instinct  suddenly 

329 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

warned  her  of  danger — what  danger  or  where  she  could 
not  see,  but  the  warning  was  imperative.  "  Indeed  I  do/' 
protested  she,  with  a  deceptive  show  of  interest,  though 
her  skin  burned  as  her  fundamental  and  incurable  honesty 
cried  shame  upon  her — as  it  always  did  when  she,  com- 
pelled by  her  circumstances,  could  not  avoid  the  lie  direct. 
"But,"  she  went  on,  "you  can't  expect  a  woman,  with  a 
household  like  this  on  her  mind,  to  drop  everything  and 
fly  at  a  few  hours'  notice." 

He  reflected,  ncdded.  "  That's  true.  Though,  really, 
the  servants  are  so  experienced  they'd  go  on  just  as  well. 
My  dear  old  aunt  was  thorough." 

There  was  a  little  bitterness  of  hurt  vanity  in  her 
smile  of  recognition  at  this  ancient  notion  of  Richard's 
about  her  part  in  that  household.  She  felt  that  the  tete- 
a-tete  had  already  lasted  too  long.  "  Was  Winchie  in 
there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  didn't  see  him,"  replied  Dick. 

She  moved  toward  the  nearest  sitting-room  window. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  cried,  irritated.  "Where 
are  you  going?  " 

"  After  Winchie.  I  haven't  thought  of  him  for  an  hour. 
Helen's  away — at  the  Foster  picnic " 

"  The  boy's  all  right.     Sit  down  here  and 

But  she  was  gone.  She  did  not  slacken  her  speed  until 
.  she  was  safely  clear  of  him.  This  new  development  of 
'  his  threatened  to  become  an  annoyance,  thought  she;  how- 
ever, it  couldn't  last  much  longer;  she  would  continue  to 
keep  out  of  his  way;  the  laboratory  would  take  *hold  of 
him  and  she  would  be  once  more  forgotten  and  free. 
Meanwhile,  she  would  avoid  him. 

And  soon  he  did  become  once  more  absorbed,  and  re- 
sumed his  accustomed  shadowy  place  in  her  life — seen  yet 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

not  seen,  heard  yet  not  heard,  present  yet  absent;  neither 
liked  nor  disliked,  but  unknown  and  unheeded — the  place 
of  many  and  many  a  husband  in  a  marriage  that  seems 
happy  and  successful  to  the  very  servants  in  the  house- 
hold, to  the  husband  and  wife  themselves.  One  evening  he 
abruptly  left  the  table.  She  saw,  but  did  not  note,  -his 
departure.  When  supper  was  over  and  she  and  Helen  and 
Basil  strolled  into  the  sitting  room,  Basil  took  advantage- 
cf  Helen's  being  apart  to  say  to  Courtney,  "  What's  wrong 
with  him?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  she.  "  Nothing,  I 
guess." 

"  Didn't  you  notice?  He  was  staring  furiously  at  you, 
and  left  in  a  rage." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  That  night  she  was  in 
one  of  her  reckless  moods,  was  nervous,  excited,  with  eyes 
the  more  brilliant  for  the  circles  round  them.  Richard 
appeared  in  the  farthest  of  the  long  open  windows.  He 
frowned  at  Basil,  said  sharply  to  his  wife,  "  Courtney,  I'd 
like  to  speak  to  you  out  here  a  moment." 

"  It's  chilly  there,"  objected  she.  "  Come  in."  And 
she  went  toward  the  piano. 

Dick  entered.  His  long  aristocratic  face  was  stern 
and  his  eyes  glowed  somberly.  "  Then  let's  go  into  the 
library,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  so  positive  that  from  him  it 
sounded  like  a  command. 

She  hesitated,  reflectively  caressing  one  slim  tapering 
arm.  "  Very  well,"  said  she,  and  passed  into  the  hall,  he 
standing  formally  aside  at  the  doorway.  In  the  library, 
she  faced  him  with  eyes  half  closed  and  chin  thrust  up 
and  a  little  out.  "Well?"  she  inquired. 

As  he  looked  at  his  sweet  frivolous  little  child  of  a  wife, 
his  manner  softened  toward  that  of  one  rebuking  a  child's 

331 


trespass.  "  I  want  yon  to  go  upstairs  and  wrap  up  your 
shoulders — or  change  your  dress." 

She  glanced  down.  The  bodice  did  not  cover  the  upper 
curve  of  her  bosom,  had  no  straps  across  the  shoulders  or 
on  the  arms.  In  the  back,  it  dipped  almost  to  the  waist 
line.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  quizzical  expression.  "  I'm 
quite  warm  enough,  thanks." 

"  You  understand  me/'  said  he,  more  severely. 

She  gazed  straight  into  his  eyes  before  answering. 
"  Yes,  I  do.  But  I  prefer  to  pretend  not  to." 

"  I've  spoken  to  you  about  my  wishes  in  this  matter 
before.  Do  you  know  what  made  me  notice  your — your 
nakedness?  Pardon  me  for  putting  it  that  way,  but  I  see 
I  must  speak  plainly." 

Her  face  expressed  faint,  contemptuous  indifference. 
"  I  cannot  talk  with  you.  Your  ideas  of  women  ought  to 
be  buried  in  the  grave  with  your  grandfather.  I  do  not 
dictate  the  cut  of  your  clothes.  You  will  not  dictate  mine." 
And  she  moved  toward  the  door. 

He  put  himself  between.  "  I  saw  Gallatin  looking  at 
you  with  an  expression —  He  made  a  gesture  of  rage — 
a  quiet  gesture  but  significant.  "  I  don't  blame  him.  It's 
your  fault.  You've  no  right  to  tease  a  man  who  can  be 
nothing  to  you.  I  speak  frankly  because " 

"  Gallatin  has  seen  thousands  of  women  in  just  such 
dress  as  this,"  interrupted  she.  It  enraged  her  to  hear 
her  lover's  feelings  for  her,  in  which  flesh  was  mere  medium 
between  spirit  and  spirit,  thus  leveled  to  the  carnality  of 
his  own  passion.  "  You,"  she  continued  icily,  "  read  your 
own  poisonous,  provincial  primness  and — and  vulgarity 
into  his  look,  no  doubt." 

"  You  are  an  innocent,  pure-minded  woman,  Courtney," 
said  Richard,  with  more  gentleness.  "  You  follow  a  fash- 

332 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ion,  thinking  of  it  only  as  a  fashion.  I  assure  you,  that 
sort  of  fashion  is  devised  in  Paris  by  cocottes  for  the  one 
purpose.  If  you  knew  men  better,  you'd  appreciate  it." 

She  appreciated  the  penetration  of  this  remark,  punc- 
turing the  pretentious  haughtiness  of  her  protest.  She 
was  surprised  at  his  reasoning  so  shrewdly  about  a  matter 
she  would  not  have  suspected  him  of  having  given  a  thought. 
But  she  must  not  let  him  interfere  in  her  personal  affairs. 
"  Whatever  its  origin/'  said  she,  "  it's  the  conventional  fash- 
ion for  women.  I  shall  continue  to  wear  it."  And  she 
looked  into  his  eyes  pleasantly.  Now,  it  struck  her  as 
amusing,  the  anger  of  this  alien,  about  the  exhibition  to 
others  of  what  he  regarded  as  his  own  private  and  per- 
sonal treasure.  Just  one  stage  removed  from  the  harem, 
such  an  idea  as  his.  "  And,"  she  went  on,  aloud,  "  if  your 
satrapship  commands  me  to  wear  a  veil  over  my  face  and 
muffle  my  figure  in  a  loose  black  bag,  I  shall  make  the 
same  reply.  You  can't  realize  it,  but  the  old-fashioned 
ideal  of  good,  pure  woman  was  really  something  to  be 
handled  with  tongs  and  disinfected." 

"  You're  talking  of  things  you,  being  a  good  woman, 
know  nothing  about." 

"  At  any  rate  I  know  a  mind  that  ought  to  be  quar- 
antined— when  I  smell  it.v  And  she  made  a  wry  face 
and  started  to  leave  the  room.  When  she  had  got  as  far 
as  the  threshold,  he  cried,  "  Courtney ! "  and  his  tone  told 
her  that  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  reverse  view  of  her 
costume — the  unimpeded  display  of  slender  dimpled  shoul- 
ders and  straight  smooth  back  almost  to  the  waist  line. 
She  pretended  not  to  hear,  went  on  to  the  sitting  room. 
Yielding  altogether  now  to  the  imp  of  the  perverse,  she 
displaced  Helen  at  the  piano  and  sang  the  maddest,  most 
melting  love  songs  she  knew.  Basil  tried  to  keep  to  the 
22  333 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

far  part  of  the  room;  but  gradually  the  enchantment  com- 
pelled. Forgetting  Richard — though  he  had  seen  him 
glowering  and  fuming  from  the  darkness  of  the  veranda — 
he  leaned  upon  the  end  of  the  grand  piano.  His  eyes 
•were  down,  but  his  burning  face  and  his  trembling  fingers 
as  he  raised  or  lowered  his  cigarette  proclaimed  how  the 
deep  passionate  notes  of  her  voice  were  vibrating  through 
him. 

It  was  somewhat  later  than  usual  when  she  went  up- 
stairs. As  she  pressed  the  button  just  inside  her  bedroom 
door  and  the  light  came  on — a  soft  pale  violet  light  that 
seemed  to  permeate  rather  than  to  shine — she  saw  Rich- 
ard in  the  window.  His  back  was  toward  her  and  he  was 
smoking  so  that  the  odor  and  the  smoke  would  not  come 
into  the  room.  He  threw  the  cigarette  over  the  balcony 
rail  and  turned.  The  instant  she  looked  at  him,  little  as 
she  knew  of  his  character  or  noted  his  moods  she  saw  she 
had  gone  too  far.  But  she  held  a  calm,  undaunted  front. 
"  How  you  frightened  me,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  that  had  no 
fright  in  it.  "  I'm  horribly  tired.  I  must  stop  eating  des- 
serts. They  wear  one  out."  She  stifled  a  yawn,  took  the 
small  diamond  sunburst  from  the  front  of  her  waist  and 
laid  it  on  the  bureau.  She  seemed  all  but  unconscious  of 
his  presence;  in  reality,  by  way  of  the  bureau  mirror,  she 
•was  watching  him  as  a  duelist  an  adversary.  "  I  shall 
fall  asleep  before  I  can  get  into  bed." 

"  I  shall  detain  you  only  a  moment."  His  grave,  ex- 
aggerated politness  did  not  decrease  her  inward  agitation. 
"  I  simply  wish  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "  that,  as  you 
seem  determined  to  persist  in  your  own  mistaken  way,  I 
shall  be  compelled  to  ask  Gallatin  to  stay  away  from  the 
house  in  the  evenings." 

Her  impulse  was  to  smile  disdain  at  the  infantile  futil- 
334 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ity  of  this.  And  the  smile  did  come  to  her  lips,  and  lin- 
gered there  to  mask  the  feelings  that  came  surging  with 
the  second  thought.  For  she  instantly  realized  how  help- 
less she  was.  This  man  had  no  part  in  her  life  nor  she 
in  his;  yet  he'  could  impose  his  will  upon  her  absolutely 
because  he  could  take  Basil  away  from  her — not  merely  for 
the  unimportant  evenings,  but  altogether.  He  could  make 
it  impossible  for  Basil  to  remain — could  do  it  by  a  mere 
word  to  him.  And  she  who  fancied  she  had  provided 
against  every  possible  contingency  had  never  even  thought 
of  this,  the  most  obvious  peril,  and  the  greatest!  Faint, 
she  leaned  upon  the  bureau,  spreading  her  arms  so  that 
she  seemed  to  be  merely  at  ease.  "  But  why  tell  me  about 
it?  "  said  she  to  him.  "  Why  didn't  you  simply  say  it  to 
him  ?  "  She  smiled  contemptuously.  "  And  what  will  he 
think  ?  " 

Dick's  calm  vanished.  "  I  don't  care  a  damn  what  he 
thinks,"  he  cried.  "  At  least,  he'll  not  be  sitting  round 
watching  you  half  dressed." 

She  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  "  Good  night,"  said 
she. 

"  I  was  out  on  the  veranda,"  Dick  rushed  on.  "  I  saw 
him.  He  forgot  Helen — forgot  decency — honor — every- 
thing— and  leaned  there,  giving  himself  up  to  a  debauch. 
Yes,  to  a  debauch !  And  you  are  responsible.  Not  he — 
not  at  all.  You,  alone.  At  least,  anger  doesn't  make  me 
unjust.  And  I  will  say  too,  you  were  innocent  in  the  mat- 
ter— like  a  willful  child.  Good  pure  women  don't  appre- 
ciate  " 

"  But  7  do,"  interrupted  she.  "  I'm  not  the  imbecile 
Aunt-Eudosia  sort  you  admire  so  much." 

"  I  tell  you,  the  man's  in  love  with  you,"  cried  Richard. 

She  all  but  staggered  before  the  shock. 
335 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Yes,  in  love  with  you.  That's  why  he  came  back 
here." 

As  steadily  and  indifferently  as  she  could  contrive  she 
went  to  the  sofa,  seated  herself.  "  Why,  you  yourself  told 
me  he  was  in  love  with  Helen." 

"  I  was  mistaken.  How  could  he  be  in  love  with  her, 
when  you're  about?  A  man  always  takes  to  the  best-look- 
ing woman." 

She  laughed  with  friendly  conciliating  coquetry.  "  I'm 
afraid  you're  prejudiced." 

"  I  saw  it  this  evening.  The  way  he  was  listening  to 
those  love  songs !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  he  was  thinking  of  me?  " 

Richard  did  not  answer. 

"  Perhaps  Helen's  equally  sure  he  was  thinking  of 
her." 

Under  cover  of  the  talk  she — hardly  knowing  what  she, 
or  he,  was  saying — darted  this  way  and  that,  seeking  an 
escape  from  the  horror  closing  in  upon  her.  She  felt  like 
a  hiding  slave,  hearing  the  distant  bay  of  the  bloodhounds. 
How  escape?  How  throw  him  off  the  scent?  Was  there 
only  the  one  way? 

"  No,  he  cares  nothing  about  Helen,"  Richard  was  say- 
ing. And  clear  and  soft  in  his  voice  now  was  the  note  she 
dreaded.  "  At  least,  he  didn't  this  evening.  How  could 
he  when  you  were  there?  Courtney,  you  simply  can't  un- 
derstand. You're  modest  and  pure  minded  and  inno- 
cent  " 

"Then  it  was  only  this  evening?"  she  interrupted. 
"  I  was  hoping  you  had  real  reason  for  flattering  me." 

"  Flattering  you !  " 

"  Certainly.  Wouldn't  it  flatter  you  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  Helen  was  in  love  with  you?  She's  in  love  with  some- 

336 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

body,  by  the  way.  It  must  be  you — how  could  she  think 
of  any  other  man  when  you  were  about?  " 

Dick  half  smiled. 

"  And  I  must  begin  to  tear  my  hair  and  foam  at  the 
mouth,  I  suppose,"  continued  she.  She  rose,  stamped  her 
foot,  in  melodramatic  imitation  of  jealous  fury.  "  Helen 
shall  keep  to  her  room  in  the  evenings !  Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 
When  I  think  of  the  times  I've  let  you  take  her  up  to  your 
study — alone ! — under  pretense  of  working !  You — with 
your  shirt  sleeves  rolled  up  and  your  collar  open !  " 

"  You  silly  child !  "     Dick  was  amused  now. 

"  But  I  don't  blame  Helen.  How  could  she  help  it — 
with  you  leading  her  on " 

Dick  laughed.  "  That's  very  shrewd,"  said  he.  "  I 
own  up.  I  guess  I  was  having  a  jealous  fit.  But  you'd 
understand  if  you  could  see  yourself  as  I  see  you."  •  And 
he  clasped  her. 

"  No — no!  "  she  gasped. 

Completely  possessed  by  his  mood  he  was  too  much 
the  man  to  have  the  power  to  see  that  her  mood  was  dif- 
ferent. Holding  her  tightly,  he  said:  "  I  do  believe  you 
acted  that  way  this  evening  just  to  make  me  jealous.  I 
admit  I  seem  neglectful.  But  I  love  you,  just  as  I  always 
did." 

She  was  struggling  to  escape  as  strongly  as  she  dared 
— more  strongly  than  her  instinct  of  prudence  approved — 
more  strongly  than  her  physical  self  desired,  for  she  real- 
ized with  horror  that  his  mood  was  hypnotizing  her  will. 

"  Listen,  dear,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  a  confession  to 
make.  While  I  was  raging  up  and  down  on  the  veranda, 
all  sorts  of  devilish  thoughts  came  to  me — suspicious " 

She  ceased  struggling. 

"  I  got  to  thinking  how  long  we've  been  living  apart — 
337 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

and   how,   every    time   I    made    advances,   you   seemed   to 

evade " 

*  She  felt  herself  growing  cold.  He  must  have  felt  it, 
too,  for  he  hastened  on:  "  Please,  little  girl,  don't  get  cross. 
I  didn't  really  suspect.  I'm  not  so  ridiculous.  I  know  a 
good  woman  could  no  more  be  false  even  in  thought  to  her 
husband — than  a  nightingale  could  change  into  a  snake." 

It  was  pounding,  pounding  at  the  walls  of  her  brain 
that  he  was  on  the  very  verge  of  the  discovery;  that  un- 
consciously he  was  fighting  against  a  suspicion  which  too 
long-pent  passion  was  thrusting  at  him  ever  more  point- 
edly. Another  repulse,  another  jealous  fit,  and — five  lives 
overwhelmed  in  ruin. 

She  lay  quiet  in  his  arms. 

In  those  next  few  days  she  was  whimsical,  capricious, 
fantastic.  Richard,  once  more  wholly  the  man  of  science, 
was  as  unconscious  as  mountain  peak  of  storms  in  the  val- 
leys far  below.  Basil  and  the  others,  but  particularly 
Basil,  watched  her  with  a  kind  of  dread.  "  I  need  a  change 
— in  fact,  I  must  have  it,"  she  announced  at  the  supper 
table.  "  Helen,  let's  go  to  Chicago  and  shop.  The  things 
in  Wenona  are  hideous  this  spring." 

"  I  need  a  change  too,"  Richard  startled  them  all  by 
saying,  "  I'll  go  with  you — and  Helen  can  take  care  of 
the  house  and  Basil — and  Winchie,  if  you'll  leave  him." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  left !  "  cried  Winchie.  "  You 
wouldn't  leave  me,  mamma  ?  " 

Courtney  did  not  hear.  She  was  looking  at  Richard 
as  if  his  words  jarred  upon  her  savagely,  goaded  her  to 
the  verge  of  outburst  She  had  been  feeling  toward  her 
husband  as  she  would  have  felt  toward  an  inanimate  object 
which  had  bruised  her  when  she  by  accident  stumbled  heav- 

338 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ily  against  it.  She  did  not  seek  the  source  of  this  feeling, 
or  let  it  disclose  itself  to  her.  She  simply  felt  so;  and 
when  he  spoke  of  going,  it  seemed  as  unthinkable  that  she 
should  let  him  go  as  that  she  should  leave  Winchie  behind. 
When  she  had  herself  in  hand,  she  said :  "  This  is  a  shop- 
ping trip.  No  men  wanted  or  allowed." 

"  Not  even  me,  mamma  ?  "  pleaded  Winchie. 

"  Except  you,"  said  she. 

And  the  two  women  and  Winchie  went  the  following 
day,  to  spend  a  busy  fortnight  in  the  Chicago  shops  buying 
for  all  three  and  for  the  house.  As  Courtney  had  limited 
means  and  exacting  taste,  the  labor  of  shopping  was  hard 
and  tedious,  especially  in  those  vast  modern  stores.  For 
there  the  satisfaction  of  having  everything  under  one  roof 
is  balanced  by  the  vexation  of  the  search  for  the  needle  of 
just  what  one  wants  and  can  afford  through  the  mountain- 
ous haystack  of  what  one  does  not  want  or  cannot  afford. 
The  toil  almost  prostrated  the  two  women — and  poor 
Winchie  who  had  to  drag  along  since  there  was  no  one  at 
the  hotel  to  whom  Courtney  would  trust  him.  But  she  felt 
more  than  repaid,  not  so  much  by  her  purchases,  though 
she  was  on  the  whole  content  with  them,  as  by  the  complete 
change  in  her  point  of  view. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  city  is  wholly  different  from  that 
of  such  a  place  as  Wenona.  In  Wenonas,  the  individual  is 
important;  the  sky  seems  near,  and  its  awful  problems  of 
the  eternal  verities — life  and  death,  right  and  wrong — 
thrust  at  every  one  every  moment  of  day  and  night.  In 
a  city,  the  sky  yields  to  brick  and  stone;  men  see  each 
other,  not  the  universe;  the  eternal  verities  seem  eternal 
bores,  and  life,  of  the  day,  of  the  hour,  tempts  with  its — 
"  Since  you  are  mere  maggot  in  rotten  cheese — tiny  mag- 
got, one  of  billions — tremendous  cheese — since  you  are  to 

339 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

die  to-morrow  and  decay  and  be  forgotten — since  you  can 
fret  and  fritter  all  your  years  away  over  life  and  death, 
over  right  and  wrong,  without  getting  a  hair's  width  nearer 
solving  them — why  not  perk  up — amuse  yourself — do  as 
little  harm  as  is  consistent  with  getting  what  you  need, 
and  have  all  the  fun  there  is  going?  Don't  take  yourself 
solemnly !  "  The  city's  egotism  is  showy,  but  shallow ;  the 
country's,  hidden  but  profound. 

Viewed  from  Chicago,  all  the  beauty,  all  the  possibilities 
of  happiness  in  her  life  in  that  lovely  place  on  the  shore 
of  Wenona  Lake  stood  out  as  in  the  landscape  of  a  master 
painter;  and  all  that  fretted  and  shamed  her  and  shot  her 
joys  with  black  thread  of  foreboding  seemed  the  work  of 
her  own  tainted  imagination.  "  I'm  harming  no  one,"  she 
now  argued.  "  I'm  free — Richard  freed  me  when  he  made 
me  realize  I  was  to  him  not  a  wife  but  simply  a  carnal  in- 
cident. And  I  am  helping  to  make  life  there  peaceful  and 
eren  happy.  The  trouble  with  me  is  I'm  still  under  the 
blight  of  my  early  training — a  training  in  how  to  die,  not 
in  how  to  live.  True,  I  do  lead  a  double  life.  But  how 
few  human  beings  do  not  lead  double  lives  of  one  kind  or 
another?  And  where  am  I  worse  than  thousands  who  long 
but  have  not  courage  or  chance?  Isn't  it  better  to  live  in 
deceit  with  a  man  one  loves  than  to  live  in  deceit  with  a 
man  one  loathes?  "  If  she  and  Basil  were  found  out,  they 
would  be  classed  with  the  rest  of  the  vulgar  intriguers. 
But  that  did  not  make  them  thus  low;  it  was  not  their 
fault  that  the  world  saw  only  coarseness  for  the  same  sort 
of  reason  that  a  man  in  green  spectacles  saw  everything 
green. 

She  came  back  as  much  improved  in  mental  health  as 
in  dress — and  certainly  the  new  clothes  were  a  triumph. 
Also,  her  sense  of  self-respect  seemed  to  be  restored — "  and 

340 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

whether  I'm  right  in  my  way  of  looking  at  things  or  am 
deceiving  myself,  I'm  certainly  much  the  better  for  feeling 
I'm  right." 

They  brought  part  of  the  spoils  of  the  city  with  them, 
but  most  of  it  came  by  freight  a  week  after  their  return. 
Courtney  and  Helen  were  almost  as  excited  as  Winchie — • 
and  Winchie  was  quite  beside  himself — when  the  great 
packing  cases  and  crates  were  opened,  and  the  treasures  of 
dresses  and  underclothes  and  "  stunning "  hats  and  fasci- 
nating shoes  and  slippers  and  parasols  and  blouses,  and  the 
furniture  and  pictures  came  into  view  from  endless  wrap- 
pings of  paper  and  bagging  and  excelsior,  of  boxes  round 
and  square,  boxes  small  and  large,  boxes  fancy  and  plain. 
Everything,  with  not  an  exception,  looked  better  than  it 
had  in  the  shop  when  it  was  bought.  "  You  are  a  wonder- 
ful shopper,  Courtney.  These  things  seem  as  if  they  were 
made  especially  for  us,"  Helen  asserted.  And  Winchie,  lit- 
erally pale  with  emotion,  screamed,  "  Mamma  Courtney, 
let's  go  back  and  buy  some  more !  " 

For  several  days  the  agitation  continued.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  month  or  longer  before  the  last  ripples  died  away, 
and  the  normal  calm  was  restored.  Helen  had  new  clothes 
as  well  as  Courtney — and  never  had  she  looked  so  lovely. 
Winchie  was  the  most  stylish  person  of  his  age  in  all  that 
region.  The  Donaldson  children  had  theretofore  been  dis- 
posed to  feel  somewhat  superior  because  they  had  a  real 
imported  French  governess;  they  now  paid  court  to  him 
and  accepted  his  decisions  about  games  as  reverently  as  a 
company  of  New  York  men  accept  the  judgments  of  any 
man  with  millions.  And  the  new  furniture  and  dishes,  the 
new  wall  paper,  the  new  cooking  utensils,  the  new  con- 
trivances for  plants  and  for  cut  flowers,  some  of  which, 
Courtney  had  had  made  from  her  own  designs,  were  as  suc- 

341 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

cessful  as  the  clothes.  Also,  Courtney — and  Helen  too — 
had,  through  the  stimulus  of  the  city,  a  multitude  of  new 
ideas  for  house  and  grounds  and  gardens.  These  they 
proceeded  to  carry  out,  Basil  assisting  whenever  he  could 
get  an  afternoon  away  from  the  laboratory  where  Richard 
had  now  buried  himself,  oblivious  of  her,  of  them  all.  Alto- 
gether, May  and  June  of  that  year  made  a  new  high- 
water  mark  of  happiness.  And  when  Helen,  going  to 
Saint  X  to  visit  and  display  her  finery,  returned  in  a  self- 
complacent  state  of  mind  that  indicated  a  complete  cure, 
a  complete  restoration  of  her  old-time  content,  Courtney 
felt  as  if  the  last  cloud  had  disappeared  from  her  horizon. 
Again  and  again  during  those  tranquil,  sparkling  days  she 
told  herself — and  almost  believed — that  at  last  her  life  was 
"  settled  right " — as  nearly  "  right "  as  a  human  life 
could  be. 

One  night  when  she  had  an  appointment  with  Basil  she 
found  Helen  still  up  as  she  was  about  to  descend  and  admit 
him.  Helen  did  not  put  out  her  light  until  nearly  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  after  the  time.  When  she  opened  the 
lake- front  door  no  one  entered;  not  a  sound.  She  looked 
out.  The  veranda  empty;  the  lawns  dreaming  undisturbed 
in  the  moonlight ;  wave  on  wave  of  the  heavy  perfume  of 
summer's  flowers.  But  not  anywhere  Basil.  Her  trembling 
ceased;  she  darted  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  everything 
forgotten  but  the  supreme  fact — he  was  gone.  Gone !  Why, 
she  could  not  doubt;  for,  from  time  to  time  she  had  seen 
in  his  eyes  the  suspicion  which,  unjust  though  it  was,  she 
dared  not  discuss  with  him.  Where  had  he  gone?  She 
must  know,  must  know  at  once. 

She  gave  not  a  thought  to  leaving  the  house — the  dan- 
gers that  made  it  impossible  for  them  to  meet  at  his  apart- 
ment. She  sped  across  the  lawn,  along  the  path  through 

342 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  pale  splendor  of  the  east  flower  garden  and  blossoming 
shrubbery,  into  the  dark  wood.  And  with  her  sped  her 
old  enemy — the  specter  dread  of  losing  him — the  ghost  so 
easily  started  from  its  unquiet  grave.  She  flitted  on  until 
she  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  with  wildly  beating 
heart.,  looking  up  at  the  solitary  building,  gloomy  in  its 
creeper  draperies.  There  was  light  from  his  bedroom 
window.  She  gave  a  quick  gasp  of  relief.  At  least  he 
was  still  within  reach.  The  phantom  beat  of  icy  rains 
falling,  falling  ceased  to  freeze  her  heart. 

Panting  from  the  tumult  of  her  thoughts  rather  than 
from  the  run,  she  knocked  on  the  entrance  door — knocked 
again,  loudly — a  third  time — a  fourth.  She  was  shaking 
from  head  to  foot.  No  answer — none.  She  tried  the  door; 
it  yielded.  She  darted  up  the  stairway,  her  body  now  fire 
and  now  ice.  He  was  in  his  bedroom  door,  was  watching 
her.  As  the  light  came  from  behind  him  she  could  not 
immediately  see  his  expression;  but  she  felt  it  was  dark 
and  angry.  She  flung  herself  on  his  breast — "  My  love — 
my  love !  "  she  sobbed. 

His  arms  hung  at  his  sides.     He  stood  rigid. 

"  Basil !  Put  your  arms  round  me.  I'm  cold — and  so 
frightened." 

He  pushed  her  away. 

She  leaned  against  the  door  frame  sobbing  into  her 
hands.  Her  long  plaits  hung  one  over  either  shoulder.  She 
looked  like  a  child,  a  broken-hearted  child.  "  And  you've 
been  pretending  to  love  me !  " 

"  I  do  love  you.     That's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Love !  "  She  turned  upon  him  passionately.  "  You 
call  that — love?  No  matter  what  I  did,  wouldn't  you  know 
I'd  done  it  for  our  love's  sake?  Yes,  you  know  all  that's  I 
is  yours — every  thought — every  heart  throb."  She  was 

343 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

sobbing  again,  her  arm  on  the  door  frame,  her  face  against 
it.  She  was  thinking  how  unsympathetic  he  was,  how 
selfish  and  cruel — was  asking  herself  why  she  did  not 
hate  him,  cast  him  out  of  her  life.  But  the  very  sug- 
gestion, made  her  heartsick.  Cast  out  him  who  was  her 
life! 

"  I  didn't  mean  it,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  was  crazed  with 
jealousy." 

"  Jealousy !     Basil— Basil !  " 

"  I  can't  help  it.     I'm  human." 

**  But  don't  you  know  me?  Oh,  sweetheart — don't  take 
from  me  all  the  self-respect  I've  got." 

He  seated  himself,  stared  doggedly  at  the  floor.  There 
was  a  long,  a  heavy  silence  which  he  finally  broke.  "  Court- 
ney," he  said,  "  we're  both  going  straight  to  hell."  He 
looked  sternly  at  her.  "  We've  got  to  get  away  from 
here." 

She  saw  the  resolve  in  his  eyes,  trembled,  grew  still. 
Then  she  remonstrated  gently,  "  You'd  forbid  me  to  treat 
Winchie  so,  if  I  wanted  to." 

He  continued  to  look  straight  and  stern  at  her.  "  Either 
you  go  with  me  or  I  go  alone." 

Her  knees  grew  weak.  The  room  swam  before  her 
eyes.  The  big  wave  in  the  picture  on  the  opposite  wall 
swelled,  lowered,  seemed  swooping  down  on  her.  "  Oh, 
no — you  wouldn't  do  that,"  she  murmured.  "  No — you 
couldn't  do  that." 

"  I'll  leave  in  the  morning,  unless  you  say  you'll  leave 
with  me  the  day  after." 

She  watched  him,  relentless  and  utterly  inconsiderate, 
and  her  anger  rose.  "  You've  no  right  to  go !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  must,"  he  replied.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you'll  let 
me  leave  without  you  ?  " 

344 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Yes — if  you'd  do  it,"  replied  she.  "  But  you  wouldn't. 
You'd  not  leave  me  to  bear  the  whole  burden  alone.  You'd 
not  be  a  coward." 

His  florid  face  became  crimson.  He  fought  for  self- 
control,  gave  up  the  hopeless  struggle,  flung  himself  down 
beside  her.  "  I  can't  go — I  can't,"  he  cried.  "  But — how 
can  I  stay?  It's  dragging  us  down — down."  He  was 
almost  weeping.  "  Courtney,  you  must  see  it's  dragging 
us  down." 

For  the  first  time  she  had  the  sense  of  strength  in  her- 
self greater  than  his,  of  weakness  in  him.  She  caressed  his 
fair  hair  tenderly.  "  It's  only  a  mood,  dearest — only  a 
mood.  It'll  pass — and  we'll  help  each  other,  and  be  strong. 
We'll  look  forward  to  the  end  of  this.  For,  in  a  few  years 
Winchie'll  be  off  to  school.  Then — I  shall  be  free  to  make 
my  own  life.  I'll  go  away  to  visit — stay  on  and  on — and 
gradually " 

"  You  must  promise  you  will  not  live  with  him." 

"  I  will  do  my  best.  But —  I  must  protect  Winchie 
— and  us." 

He  grew  red,  then  pale,  was  silent  for  a  time.  Then 
he  said  irritatedly,  weakly,  "  But  don't  you  see  what  a 
position  it  puts  me  in !  " 

"  And  me  ?  "  She  said  it  very  quietly,  with  a  certain 
restrained  pathos.  But  he  sat  glum  and  moody,  thinking 
of  his  own  plight. 

He  roused  himself.  "  All  right,"  he  cried,  in  a  tone 
of  contempt — for  himself  and  for  her.  He  embraced  her 
with  a  kind  of  insolent  familiarity.  "  Then  I'll  stay.  If 
I  went,  I'd  only  come  sneaking  back.  I'm  no  longer  a 
man.  I'm  a  slave  to  you."  And  he  held  her  at  arms  length 
and  eyed  her  with  an  expression  that  told  her  he  was 
making  inventory  of  her  charms. 

345 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Please  don't  talk  that  way,"  she  begged,  offended  and 
wounded  by  that  expression  in  his  eyes  more  than  she  dared 
admit  to  herself.  "  I  know  you  don't  mean  it.  I  know 
you — love.  I  know " 

"  Love — let's  only  talk  of  love/'  he  interrupted. 

She  fell  to  wondering  whether,  when  they  were  together 
in  the  dark,  his  unseen  eyes  had  this  look — and  why  it 
made  his  words  and  his  caresses  seem  so  different  from 
the  words  and  caresses  of  the  darkness.  She  had  never 
thought  of  it  before;  she  hated  to  learn  it  then — just  then; 
but  she  could  not  push  away  the  monstrous  truth  that  love 
and  lust  have  the  same  vocabulary,  the  same  gestures,  the 
same  tones,  differ  only  in  their  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  so  solemnly  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  solemnly,"  she  protested  with  a 
hastily  forced  smile.  "  I  was  simply  remembering  how 
rarely  we've  been  together  alone — really  alone — except  in 
the  dark,  for  a  long  long  time." 

"  It's  good  to  be  able  to  see  you,"  said  he,  and  she  felt 
like  hiding  in  shame  from  his  eyes.  "  You  streamer  of 
flame  that's  burning  up  my  soul." 

Her  lips  echoed  his  laugh.    "  What  nonsense,"  she  said. 

"  It's  the  truth,"  declared  he.  "  But — burn  on !  I 
can't  live  without  it." 

The  smile  left  her  lips — it  had  not  been  in  her  eyes. 
"  If  I  thought  you " 

He  stopped  her  mouth  with  a  kiss.  "  Only  love !  "  he 
commanded.  "  No  thought." 

"  That's  right,"  she  cried  eagerly.  "  No  thought !  Just 
feeling — just  love.  We  must  not  think.  It's  the  cause  of 
our  unhappiness." 

And  she  tried  to  be  as  good  as  her  word.  "  I  do  love 
him,  and  he  loves  me,"  she  rebuked  herself.  "  I'm  unstrung 

34,6 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

— hysterical — full  of  crazy  fancies.  I  mustn't — mustn't — 
fret  at  his  way  of  loving.  I  must  always  think,  '  What 
would  become  of  me  if  I  lost  him  ?  ' '  And  she  pretended 
to  be  in  his  mood;  for  the  sake  of  a  passion  that  had  been, 
she  simulated  a  passion  that  was  not. 


XXII 

MASCULINE  moral  struggle  is  usually  noisier  than  femi- 
nine— unless  the  woman  is  seeking  to  impress  some  man, 
before  yielding  of  her  own  free  will  what  she  wishes  him 
to  fancy  his  superior  charm  and  force  and  subtlety  are 
conquering.  Thus,  woman  being  by  nature  freer  from  the 
footless  kinds  of  hypocrisy  than  man,  it  was  only  in  the 
regular  order  that  while  Courtney  quietly  accepted  the  situ- 
ation and  conformed  to  it,  Basil  should  accept  it  with  much 
moral  bluster.  He  accused  now  his  own  wickedness,  now 
the  wickedness  of  destiny,  and  again  woman's  sinful  charms. 
Still,  the  masculine  conscience  no  less  than  the  feminine  is 
bred  to  be  an  ultimately  accommodating  chaperon;  and 
Basil's  conscience  would  soon  have  gone  to  sleep  had  it  not 
been  kept  awake  and  feverish  by  a  contrasting  presence. 
That  contrast  was  Helen's  virginal  beauty  and  virginal 
purity — both  of  which  fascinated  his  overstimulated  and  de- 
generating imagination. 

Helen  was,  as  Courtney  had  said,  a  girl  of  the  old- 
fashioned  type.  This  does  not  mean  that  she  was  a  rare 
survival  of  an  extinct  type,  but  simply  that  she  was  the  girl 
of  yesterday  as  distinguished  from  the  girl  of  to-morrow, 
and  from  the  girl  that  is  partly  of  yesterday,  partly  of  to- 
morrow— all  three  of  whom  we  have  with  us  in  this  transi- 
tional to-day.  Helen  had  by  inheritance  and  training  all 
woman's  ancient  instincts  to  be  a  possessed  and  protected 
property.  These  instincts  originated  in  the  necessities  and 
the  ignorance  of  former  societies;  but  they  are  cultivated 
and  clung  to  because  masculine  vanity  dotes  on  the  superior 

348 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

attitude,  and  because  the  female  very  humanly  finds  it  more 
comfortable  to  be  looked  after  than  to  look  after  herself, 
to  have  her  thinking  done  for  her  than  to  think  for  herself, 
to  be  supported  than  to  support  herself,  to  be  strong  through 
weakness  than  to  be  strong  through  strength.  The  male 
wants  to  pose  as  master.  The  female  yields,  since  the  usual 
cost  to  her  is  merely  putting  up  with  airs  of  superiority  at 
which  she  can  secretly  laugh;  at  worst,  the  cost  is  only  that 
intangible  thing,  self-respect.  So,  why  not?  Self-respect 
is  purely  subjective,  unseen.  It  provides  no  comforts  or 
luxuries.  Lack  of  it  attracts  no  attention  in  a  world  that 
sees  only  surfaces.  So,  why  not  sacrifice  it,  when  it  be- 
comes inconvenient?  Men  do.  Why  shouldn't  women? 

Helen  had  no  desire  to  be  of  full  human  stature — to  be 
free.  She  wished  to  be  a  "  true  woman,"  meek  servant  of 
a  lord  and  master,  and  never  under  the  painful  necessity 
of  taking  responsible  thought  for  herself.  Having  no  capac- 
ity or  desire  for  comradeship  with  men,  she  denounced  it 
as  unwomanly.  Her  physical  virtue — "  purity,"  she  called 
it — she  regarded  as  her  chief  glory.  She  was  glad  it  was 
still  woman's  chief  asset  in  the  struggle  for  existence;  for, 
she  could  not  help  knowing  she  had  beauty,  and  it  is  beauty 
that  makes  virtue  valuable,  though  of  course  beauty  adds 
nothing  to  its  glory. 

Helen  certainly  had  beauty,  nearly  as  great  beauty  as 
she  imagined  in  that  heart  of  hearts  where  our  vanity  feels 
free  to  spread  its  tail  to  the  last  gaudy  feather  and  to  strut 
as  no  peacock  or  gobbler  ever  dared.  Her  skin  was  white 
as  milk,  her  features  were  classically  regular,  and  she  was 
now  a  shade  taller  than  Basil,  could  almost  look  level-eyed 
at  Richard.  Her  dark  hair  was  commonplace  in  color  and 
texture,  was  rather  short,  did  not  grow  especially  well  about 
her  brow  or  behind  the  ears ;  but  it  was  thick  and  abundant, 
23  349 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

and  the  brow  and  the  ears  were  charming  in  themselves. 
Thanks  to  Courtney's  skill  in  devising  a  corset,  the  defect 
of  waist  too  close  to  bust  was  no  longer  conspicuous.  She 
had  sound  teeth,  good  arms  and  legs,  narrow  hands  and 
feet.  Her  large  brown  eyes  were  of  the  kind  that  has  been 
regarded  as  ideal  for  woman  from  the  days  of  Homer  sing- 
ing the  ox-eyed  Juno,  down  to  our  own  day  when  intelli- 
gence is  trying  to  get  a  place  among  feminine  virtues  and 
the  look  of  intelligence  among  feminine  beauties.  She  had 
learned  from  Courtney  —  who  knew  —  a  great  deal  about 
dress — dress  that  all  women  talk,  but  only  the  rare  excep- 
tional woman  knows. 

Also,  she  had  from  her  a  practical  training  for  what 
she  regarded  as  woman's  only  sphere,  the  home.  Courtney 
had  taught  her  how  to  keep  house  with  comfort,  order  and 
system.  As  Courtney  had  none  of  the  teacher's  vanity  but 
used  the  method  of  suggestion,  she  fancied  she  had  learned 
and  was  learning  from  herself;  the  more  so,  since  she  in 
defiance  of  daily  experience  could  not  credit  a  woman  of 
Courtney's  lively  and,  because  light,  undoubtedly  thought- 
less and  careless  temperament,  with  enough  seriousness  to 
be  a  good  housekeeper.  Helen  there  showed  herself  about 
on  a  level  with  the  human  average;  for  all  but  incredible 
is  the  stupidity  of  our  misjudgments  and  mismeasurements 
of  our  fellow  beings.  There  was  not  in  her  the  capacity 
to  reflect  who  thought  out  the  new  ideas  that  were  constantly 
being  put  into  effect,  who  told  her  what  to  do  and  who 
quietly  and  tactfully  saw  that  she  did  it. 

The  most  obvious  improvement  in  Helen  was  through 
her  unconsciously  acting  on  Courtney's  advice  of  delicately 
veiled  suggestion  and  dropping  the  culture  pose.  She  was 
now  patterning  upon  Courtney's  naturalness  so  far  as  she 
could.  She  had  the  handicap  of  an  ingrained  and  incurable 

350 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

passion  for  those  innocuous  little  tricks  of  manner  with  the 
men ;  also,  she  was  greatly  hindered  by  a  conventional  assort- 
ment of  the  so-called  "  lofty  ideals."  Still,  she  was  letting 
much  of  her  own  natural  personality  appear.  She  was  only 
slightly  exaggerating  her  bent  toward  sweetness  and  sym- 
pathy. She  was  not  quite  so  strenuous  in  advocacy  of  fine 
old-fashioned  womanliness — heart  without  mind,  purity  that 
is  mere  strait j acketed  carnality;  virtue  that,  when  it  yields, 
makes  lofty  pretense  of  yielding  only  in  reluctant  toler- 
ance of  man's  coarseness  and  of  nature's  shameful  way  of 
reproducing.  At  Tecumseh,  when  Dr.  Madelene  Ranger 
delivered  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  profession  all  young 
women  are  candidates  for — that  is,  on  matrimony — to  the 
girls  of  the  senior  class  of  the  college  of  liberal  arts,  Helen 
was  one  of  those  who  refused  to  attend  and  signed  the — 
unheeded — protest  to  the  faculty.  She  was  no  longer  so 
proud  of  this  as  she  had  been,  although  she  still  thought 
she  had  done  what  ought  to  be  right  though  it  rather  seemed 
foolish. 

But  the  greatest  improvement  of  all  in  Helen  was  the 
subtlest.  She  had  come  there,  expecting  to  be  a  dependent, 
feeling  and,  in  a  sweet  refined  way,  acting  like  the  poor  re- 
lation, harbored  on  sufferance.  Women,  trained  from  the 
outset  to  be  dependents,  easily  degenerate  into  sycophants, 
like  men  who  have  always  looked  to  others  for  employment 
and  have  lost  self-confidence  if  they  ever  had  it.  But  lack 
of  self-reliance,  a  vice  in  a  man,  is  regarded  as  a  virtue  in 
a  woman ;  so,  women  have  absolutely  no  restraint  upon  their 
abandoning  even  the  forms  of  self-respect,  once  they  get  in 
the  way  of  degenerating.  Thus,  Helen's  relations  with 
Courtney  might  easily  have  become  what  is  usually  seen 
where  there  is  intimacy  between  a  poor  woman  and  a  woman 
of  means.  But  Courtney — not  deliberately  but  with  the  un- 

351 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

consciousness  of  large  natures — made  this  degradation  im- 
possible. It  was  not  merely  that  Helen  had  not  been  made 
to  feel  a  dependent;  it  was  more — far  more.  It  was  that 
she  had  been  made  to  feel  independent,  more  independent 
than  Courtney  herself  felt.  And  this  fine  feeling,  this  erect- 
ness  of  spirit,  permeated  to  every  part  of  her  character, 
would  have  made  a  full-statured  human  being  of  her,  had 
she  had  the  mentality  to  shake  off  her  early  training  as  mere 
conventional  female. 

Richard  frankly  declared  her  an  ideal  woman;  Basil 
secretly  agreed  with  him.  Helen  became  the  constant  re- 
minder of  his  lost  honor,  of  the  heaven  he  had  given  up 
for  the  forbidden  delights.  He  reveled  in  Courtne}-  the 
tempest;  but  during  the  lulls  his  eyes  turned  yearningly  to 
Helen,  the  serene  and  pure  calm.  Courtney  represented 
sinful  excess,  Helen  righteous  restraint.  Courtney's  was 
love  the  devastator;  a  love  for  Helen  would  be  love  the  up- 
lifter.  He  wanted  Courtney;  he  felt  that  Helen  was  what 
he  ought  to  want.  And  in  the  lulls,  with  passion  exhausted 
— and  needing  the  stimulus  of  contrast — he  sometimes  fan- 
cied that,  if  he  could  somehow  contrive  to  assert  his  man- 
hood and  escape  from  slavery  to  Courtney,  he  would  be 
happy  with  Helen,  and  once  more  noble  and  good.  Like 
many  another,  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had  an  aspira- 
tion to  a  better  life  when  in  reality  he  was  making  pretense 
of  virtuous  longing  merely  to  whet  his  appetite  for  vice. 
He  shut  his  eyes  to  the  obvious  but  rarely  seen — or,  rather, 
rarely  admitted — truth  that  a  man  is  as  he  does,  not  as  he 
pretends  or  dreams. 

Before  finally  and  fully  condemning  Basil — or  Court- 
ney— or  anyone — for  anything  he  or  she  may  have  done 
contrary  to  our  views  of  propriety  and  morality,  it  would 
be  well  to  reflect  upon  the  true  nature  of  conscience — to 

352 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

which  Basil  and  Courtney  and  all  of  us  habitually  refer  all 
moral  questions  for  settlement.  As  we  grow  older  we  are 
awed  or  amused  rather  than  shocked — and,  unless  we  have 
lived  as  the  moles  and  the  earthworms,  are  not  astonished 
at  all — by  the  wondrous  ways  in  which  our  conscience  ad- 
justs itself  to  necessity — or  to  what  overwhelming  inclina- 
tion makes  us  believe  to  be  necessity.  But  in  unanalytic 
youth  such  adjustments  take  place  unconsciously  to  our- 
selves; the  mind,  in  the  parts  of  itself  hidden  from  us, 
concocts  the  proof  positive  that  what  we  desire  is  necessary 
and  right ;  all  we  are  conscious  of  is  that  we  suddenly  have 
the  mandate  of  necessity  and  the  godspeed  of  conscience. 
Thus,  conscience  in  youth  can  be  as  flexible  as  occasion 
may  require,  yet  can,  without  hypocrisy,  be  for  the  conduct 
of  others  a  very  Draco  of  a  lawgiver,  a  very  Brutus  of  a 
judge.  This,  in  youth  only.  But —  How  many  of  us 
ever  do  grow  up? 

The  free-and-easy  mode  of  life  at  the  house  made  it 
impossible  for  any  two  to  be  alone,  except  by  stealth,  with- 
out ever3'one's  knowing  it.  As  a  man  who  since  early  youth 
had  led  the  "  man  sort  of  life  "  he  was  thoroughly  used  to 
associating  the  idea  stealth  with  the  relations  of  men  and 
Women.  However,  flexible  though  conventional  "  honor  "  is, 
he  had  misgivings  about  bending  it  to  the  requirements  of 
desire  in  this  particular  case.  But  as  his  longing  for  such 
a  moral  invigorator  as  Helen's  innocent  purity  grew  in  in- 
tensity, he  began  deliberately  to  revolve  contriving  to  see 
her  alone  again,  and  by  stealth.  His  first  success  was  acci- 
dental— callers  occupying  Courtney  when  he  came  seeking 
her.  As  he  turned  away  from  the  house  he  spied  Helen, 
seated  under  a  maple  tree  sewing  near  where  Winchie  and 
the  older  Donaldson  boy  were  playing  ball.  She  colored 
faintly  when  he  dropped  to  the  grass  near  her  and  lit  a 

353 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


cigarette.  He  so  placed  himself  that  he  commanded  all 
approaches  from  the  house  and  could  not  be  taken  by  sur- 
prise. "  Why  is  it,"  he  began,  "  that  I  don't  see  you  at  all 
any  more — except  at  the  table  ?  " 

The  fact  that  he  did  not  pursue  when  she  began  to  avoid 
had  disappointed  her  keenly.  But  it  had  given  her  a  better 
opinion  of  him.  It  showed — so  she  told  herself,  perhaps 
by  way  of  consolation  to  vanity — that  however  bad  he  might 
be  he  yet  had  redeeming  reverence  for  purity.  But  she  had 
long  been  weary  of  the  dutiful  struggle  against  his  charm 
of  the  worldly  and  the  rich  for  her  the  unworldly  and  the 
poor.  So,  her  manner  was  not  wholly  discouraging  as  she 
said,  in  reply  to  his  respectfully  regretful  question,  "  I've 
been  very  much  occupied." 

He  watched  her  swift  white  fingers  a  while,  then  stared 
gloomily  out  toward  the  lake.  She  stole  a  pitying  glance 
at  him.  "  Poor  fellow !  "  thoiight  she.  "  He's  suffering 
terribly  to-day.  That  dreadful  woman  !  How  could  Court- 
ney, generous  though  she  is,  defend  a  creature  who  is  sim- 
ply wrecking  his  life?"  As  she  had  kept  close  watch  on 
him  all  these  months,  these  signs  of  his  sufferings  were  not 
new  to  her.  But  never  had  she  seen  them  so  movingly  plain. 
"  Poor  fellow !  "  thought  she. 

Presently  he  said:  "Won't  you  talk  to  me?  I  feel  like 
a — a  damned  soul  to-day." 

Helen  thrilled.  He  looked  so  distinguished,  was  so  ele- 
gantly dressed  in  his  simple  manly  way,  had  that  gloss, 
that  sheen,  which  marks  all  the  kinds  and  conditions  of 
anglers  for  the  opposite  sex.  "  What  shall  I  talk  about  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Her  sympathetic  smile,  showing  her  excellent  teeth  and 
lighting  up  her  dark  eyes,  changed  for  him  her  common- 
place query  into  a  stimulating  exhibit  of  depth  of  soul. 

354 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 


"  Anything — anything,"  he  said.  "  You've  got  such  an 
honest,  sweet  voice  that  whatever  you  say  makes  one  feel 
better." 

"  What  is  troubling  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  myself." 

But  her  instinct  told  her  he  had  brought  his  stained  soul 
to  confessional.  "  It  might  help  you/'  she  suggested,  blush- 
ing at  her  own  boldness. 

He  looked  gratefully  at  her  and  away.  "  It  seems  to 
rne,"  said  he,  "  you've  been  avoiding  me.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

Helen  bent  her  head  low  over  her  work. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  instinctive,"  he  went  on.  "  To  you, 
I'd  seem —  Sometimes  I  feel  that,  if  you  and  I  had  kept 
on  with  those  talks  we  were  having  last  spring,  things  would 
have  been  different  with  me.  However,  it's  too  late  now." 

Helen's  eyes  filled.  "  Oh,  no.  It's  never  too  late," 
said  she. 

He  sighed  and  rose — Courtney  was  coming  toward  them. 
Helen  took  #10  part  in  the  conversation  that  followed.  She 
was  pondering  the  few  meaningless  and  youthful  phrases 
he  had  uttered  as  if  they  were  freighted  with  wisdom  and 
destiny.  And  she  continued  to  ponder  them  after  he  and 
Courtney  and  Winchie  went  away  for  a  drive  to  Wenona. 
The  more  meaningless  a  thing  is,  the  more  food  for  thought 
to  those  incapable  of  thinking.  When  it  is  clear,  it  is 
grasped  at  once  and  the  incident  closes ;  but  let  it  have  no 
meaning  at  all,  and  lives  will  be  devoted  to  cogitating  upon 
it,  and  library  shelves  will  groan  with  tomes  of  exegesis. 
Helen  found  in  Basil's  words  what  she  wished  to  find — 
found  a  plain  mandate  of  duty  to  help  him.  He  couldn't 
be  so  very  bad — probably  not  so  bad  as  Richard  was  in  his 
bachelor  days,  before  chemistry  and  Courtney  calmed  him. 
And  look  at  Richard  now ! 

355 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

She  did  not  know  the  very  particular  dangers  for  Basil 
in  drink.  But  she  saw  that  he  was  taking  a  great  deal  more 
whisky  and  water  than  formerly,  and  she  felt  that  it  had 
to  do  with  his  obviously  desperate  depression.  Her  one 
chance  to  see  him,  she  knew,  was  when  Courtney  was  occu- 
pied; for,  had  she  not  led  Courtney  to  think  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  be  left  alone  with  him  ever?  She  decided  it 
was  best  not  to  tell  Courtney  she  had  changed  her  mind — 
somewhat — about  him;  Courtney  would  misjudge,  would 
think  her  careless  about  principle,  weak,  love-sick — worst  of 
all,  would  probably  advise  against  her  talking  with  him. 
Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Courtney  was  safely  occu- 
pied— with  callers,  with  Winchie,  at  sewing  or  painting  or 
dressing — Helen  put  herself  oftener  and  oftener  in  such  a 
position  that  Basil  could  find  her  if  he  chose.  She  did  not 
dream  that  he  also  wished  to  be  stealthy;  she  thought  the 
stealth  was  all  on  her  own  side — and  he,  seeing  this,  soon 
pretended  to  himself  that  he  thought  so,  too,  and  had  not 
the  slightest  sense  of  guilt  toward  Courtney.  It  did  not 
take  him  long  to  find  a  satisfying  explanation  for  Helen's 
'aversion  to  having  it  known  that  they  met  alone;  here,  de- 
cided he,  was  another  evidence  of  her  modesty,  her  delicate 
sensitiveness  of  the  good  woman  who  can't  bear  being  talked 
about  lightly — and,  if  they  talked  alone  where  others  could 
see,  there  would  surely  be  joking  and  teasing  and  gossiping. 
Once  more  habit  gave  illustration  of  its  subtle  grasping 
of  ever  more  and  more  power.  Before  either  was  aware  of 
it,  they  were  meeting  clandestinely  with  clocklike  regular- 
ity. And  Helen's  life  filled  with  sunshine  of  the  most  de- 
licious warmth  and  sparkle.  And  Basil,  keeping  steadily 
on  at  his  drinking,  and  never  relaxing  in  his  devotion  to  the 
sweet  sin  of  which  Courtney  was  the  scarlet  altar,  reveled 
in  those  agonies  of  a  sense  of  utter  depravity  that  are  about 

356 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

the  only  charm  of  wickedness.  "  I  am  not  fit  to  live,"  re- 
flected he  with  comfortable  gloom,  as  he  sat  in  his  apart- 
ment alone  drinking  after  an  afternoon  with  Helen  and  a 
late  evening  with  Courtney.  Here  was  excellent  excuse  for 
drinking  and  gloriously  damning  himself.  He  did  not  go 
to  bed  until  he  had  finished  the  bottle  and  the  last  cigarette 
in  the  big  silver  box  on  his  table.  Also,  between  spasms  of 
self-damning  he  had  contrived  to  finish  a  novel  of  intrigue 
that  had  as  its  villain-hero  just  such  a  devil  of  a  fellow  as 
he  felt  he  himself  was — or  was  in  delightful  danger  of 
becoming. 

How  it  ever  befell  he  never  could  remember.  But  the 
day  came  when  he,  sitting  with  Helen  in  the  summerhouse 
— the  summerhouse ! — found  himself  holding  her  hand.  He 
stared  at  the  pretty  white  hand,  large  and  capable  yet  femi- 
nine in  every  curve.  He  noted  that  it  was  lying  content- 
edly, confidingly  upon  the  brown  of  his  palm.  He  lifted 
his  dazed  eyes.  Her  lashes  were  down,  her  cheeks  over- 
spread with  delicate  color;  her  bosom,  like  a  young  Juno's, 
rose  and  fell  with  agitated  irregularity.  It  was  not  poi- 
sonous mock  morality,  it  was  the  decent  human  man  under- 
neath, that  sent  an  honestly  horrified  "  Good  God !  "  to  his 
lips.  He  laid  her  hand  gently  in  her  lap,  stood  up,  thrust 
his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers  pockets.  His  face  was  red 
with  real  shame. 

"  I've  often  told  you,"  said  he,  "  that  I'm  no  fit  com- 
panion for  a  pure  woman — that  my  life's  ruined  past  re- 
deeming  " 

"  Don't  say  those  things,"  she  implored.  "  They  hurt 
me — and  they're  not  so.  I  know  you." 

"  Past  redeeming,"  he  repeated.  "  It's  the  God's  truth. 
I  must  keep  away  from  you.  I've  no  right  to  see  you — to 

357 


THE  HUNGRY.  HEART 

care  for  you — to  tempt  you  to  care  for  me.     I  can't  tell 
you — but  if  you  knew,  you'd  loathe  me  as  I  loathe  myself." 

"  Do  you — do  you —  '  Her  voice  faltered.  But  she  had 
wrought  herself  up  to  such  a  romantic  pitch  about  him,  and 
his  earnestness  was  so  terrifying  and  so  real  to  her,  that 
she  dared  to  go  on — "Do  you  care  for  some  one  else?" 
And  she  looked  at  him  in  all  the  beauty  of  her  romance. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  in  great 
agitation — physical,  though  he  of  course  fancied  it  moral. 
"  Not  with  the  love  I  might  have  given  a  pure  woman,  if 
fate  and  my  own  vile  weakness  hadn't  conspired  to  ruin  me. 
.  .  .  What  am  I  saying?  I  can't  talk  to  you  about  it. 
Think  me  as  bad  as  your  imagination  can  picture — and  I'm 
worse  still." 

She  gave  a  low  wail  that  came  straight  from  her  honest 
romantic  young  heart  and  went  straight  to  his  heart.  He 
sat  beside  her,  took  her  hand.  "  Be  merciful  to  me,"  he 
begged.  "  At  least  I'm  not  so  bad  that  I  don't  know  good- 
ness when  I  see  it.  And  you'll  always  be  the  ideal  of  good- 
ness in  my  eyes — all  I  once  sought  in  love — all  I  once 
deluded  myself  into  believing  I  had  won." 

She  thrilled.  Those  words  made  her  feel  that  he  be- 
longed to  her.  She  laid  her  other  hand  on  his.  "  Basil," 
she  appealed,  "  you  are  young,  and  brave,  and  noble.  You 
can  free  yourself — save  yourself " 

He  drew  away,  went  to  the  rail  of  the  pavilion,  seated 
himself  there.  "  No,"  he  said.  "  I'm  past  saving.  And — 
we  must  not  meet  any  more." 

"  Why?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because — I  am  not  free — and  never  shall  be." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "     Her  eyes   looked  loving  incredulity. 

"  I  am  more  tightly  bound — by  honor  and  by — by  habit 
— than  if  I  were  married." 

358 


She  gave  a  long  sigh — of  despair,  she  thought,  but  in 
reality  of  hope,  for,  at  least  he  was  free.  Marriage  was 
the  only  real  bond.  As  for  honor — what  honor  could  there 
be  in  any  tie  not  sanctioned  by  religion  and  society? 

"  What  a  cur  I  am !  "  he  exclaimed,  put  to  shame  by  her 
sigh  and  her  forlorn  expression. 

"  Please  don't !  "  she  begged.  "  I  understand — as  far 
as  a  girl  could  understand  such  a  thing.  And  I  know  it's 
not  your  fault.  And — even  if  we  can't  be  anything  more 
to  each  other,  still  I'm  not  sorry  we've  had  what  we've  had. 
I'm — I'm — glad!  " 

He  felt  the  glory  of  her  purity  beaming  upon  him  like 
heaven's  light  on  the  bleak,  black-hot  peaks  of  hell.  He 
longed  to  linger,  and  talk  on  and  on;  bui  ::is  sense  of  honor 
had  reached  the  limit  of  its  endurance  for  that  day.  Without 
touching  her  hand  he  said  good-by  as  if  they  were  never 
to  see  each  other  again  and  went  as  if  his  heart  were  broken. 

Thenceforth  Helen  let  her  longing  for  romance  centre  in 
him  without  concealing  the  fact  from  herself — or  from  him. 
And  her  castle-building  had  an  energy  it  would  never  have 
had,  if  she  had  not  imagined  she  felt  it  was  hopeless.  Noth- 
ing so  dynamic  as  the  hopelessness  that  hopes.  Believing 
that  he  loved  her,  that  she  was  his  one  chance  of  redemp- 
tion, she  continued  to  give  painstaking  attention  to  her 
toilet,  to  refresh  her  memory  of  those  of  his  favorite  poets 
with  whom  she  was  acquainted,  to  learn  lines  from  those 
she  knew  less  well,  and  to  put  herself  in  his  way — always 
without  forwardness.  And  he  continued  to  drift — held  fast 
to  Courtney  with  senses  so  enchained  that  he  would  have 
fought  against  release  like  an  opium  fiend  for  his  drug; 
fascinated  also  by  the  woman  he  could  dream  he  ought  to 
have  loved,  and  might  have  loved.  Two  restraints  he  laid 
sternly  upon  himself.  Not  to  talk  of  love  in  a  tete-a-tete 

359 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

with  a  woman — that  would  be  impossible.  But  he  would 
see  that  the  talk  was  kept  to  the  general,  that  it  never  ad- 
ventured the  particular.  Also,  he  would  never  again  so 
much  as  touch  Helen's  hand  when  they  were  alone.  Were 
he  bred  to  be  as  expert  at  moral  truth  as  at  moral  sham, 
he  might  have  found  a  key  to  his  true  state  of  soul  in  the 
tantalization  this  self-restraint  caused  him  to  suffer.  There 
were  times  when  her  physical  contrast  to  Courtney  was  as 
alluring  to  his  keyed-up,  supersensitized  nerves  as  was  her 
moral  contrast  to  his  morbid  moral  sense.  If  he  had  had 
the  intelligence  and  concentration  necessary  to  candid  self- 
analysis,  he  would  have  been  startled — perhaps  benefited — 
by  the  discovery  that  he  was  in  the  way  to  become  one  of 
those  libertines  who  in  all  sincerity  teach  prayers  to  the 
innocence  they  are  plotting  to  debauch. 

And  all  the  time  he  was  drinking  more  and  more  deeply 
— not  for  the  moral  reasons  he  fancied,  but  for  the  practical 
physical  reason  that  a  disordered  nervous  system  craves  the 
stimulants  that  will  further  aggravate  its  disorder.  Helen's 
father  had  carried  his  liquor  badly;  a  little  was  enough  to 
upset  him  a  great  deal.  Basil  was  one  of  those  men  who 
are  able  to  drink  heavily  without  showing  it,  even  to  the 
most  watchful  eyes.  Often,  when  she  had  not  the  faintest 
suspicion  he  was  in  liquor,  he  was  in  fact  so  far  gone  that 
he  had  to  keep  his  surface  preternaturally  solemn  in  order 
to  conceal  the  disorder  of  his  mind. 

The  day  did  not  long  delay  when,  under  the  influence 
of  drink,  he  suddenly  seized  her  and  kissed  her.  She  did 
not  resist;  but  the  shock  of  the  contact,  instead  of  inflam- 
ing him,  instantly  restored  him  to  his  senses.  He  was  con- 
science-stricken;  also  he  saw  the  impossible  complications 
he  was  precipitating.  In  shame  and  fright — in  fright  more 
than  shame — he  fled  from  her  presence. 

360 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

So  far  as  outward  effect  is  concerned,  the  action  is  every- 
thing, the  motive  nothing.  But  so  far  as  inward  effect  is 
concerned,  the  action  is  nothing,  the  motive  everything.  In 
action  Basil  and  Courtney  were  essentially  the  same — equal 
partners  in  intrigue.  But  her  motive  of  seeking  strength 
through  love  availed  to  hold  her  steady,  even  to  lift  her  up ; 
while  his  motive  of  sensuality  ever  less  and  less  refined  and 
redeemed  by  love  was  thrusting  him  down  and  down. 


XXIII 

RICHARD  and  Courtney  were  walking  up  from  the 
laboratory  together.  In  his  abrupt  fashion  Richard  broke 
the  silence  with :  "  I  wonder  if  it  isn't  Helen  that's  hanging 
back  and  not  Gallatin.  She's  innocent  as  a  baby,  but  her 
experience  with  her  father  must  have  taught  her  about  that 
one  thing." 

"  What  one  thing?  "  asked  Courtney,  startled  out  of  her 
abstraction. 

"  Drinking.  Helen  must  have  noticed  how  Gallatin's 
mopping  it  up  these  days." 

"  Nonsense/'  said  Courtney  sharply.  She  was  much 
irritated — as  human  beings  are  extremely  apt  to  be,  when 
some  matter  they  are  making  determined  efforts  to  ignore  is 
forced  on  their  attention. 

"  He  was  so  drunk  this  morning  that  he  had  to  go  out 
and  take  the  air.  That's  what  made  me  think  of  it." 

Drunk !  She  winced  at  that  bald  revolting  word.  She 
flamed  at  what  she  tried  to  think  was  an  injustice.  "  This 
morning?"  cried  she.  "Why,  that's  absurd.  I'd  have 
noticed  it." 

"  You're  another  innocent.  He  carries  a  package  well — • 
always  did."  There  Richard  laughed  at  memories  of  his 
and  Gallatin's  "  wild-oats  "  days  of  which  he  fancied  Court- 
ney knew  nothing — and  he  would  have  been  panic-stricken 
had  he  thought  there  was  danger  of  her  finding  out  about 
them.  "  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  Gallatin's  been  going  some 
for  several  weeks  now.  But  this  daytime  drinking  is  a 
new  development." 

362 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I'm  sure  you're  mistaken,"  said  Courtney,  her  irrita- 
tion showing  in  her  color  now.  "  You  both  drink  at  supper." 

"  He  about  six  to  my  two.  I  never  take  more  than  two. 
And  every  once  in  a  while  I  see  Jimmie  or  Bill  carrying  a 
case  of  bottles  to  or  from  his  apartments.  I  can  understand 
a  boy's  doing  that  sort  of  thing.  A  boy  wants  to  try  every- 
thing. But  how  a  grown  man  can  keep  on  at  it  is  beyond 
me.  Still,  he  hasn't  much  mind.  He  never  says  or  thinks 
anything  he  hasn't  got  from  somebody  else.  But — women'd 
never  notice  that."  This  last  sentence  half  to  himself,  not 
at  all  for  her  hearing. 

Courtney  was  all  a-quiver  with  anger.  For,  his  shrewd 
observation  on  Basil's  mentality  compelled  her  to  admit  to 
herself  another  truth,  indeed  a  whole  swarm  of  truths,  she 
had  been  hiding  from  herself — how  Basil's  conversation, 
when  they  were  all  together  and  the  subject  was  necessarily 
other  than  love,  no  longer  seemed  brilliant  or  especially 
interesting  even;  how  at  the  shop  he  made  an  extremely 
poor  showing,  was  now  pupil,  and  rather  backward  pupil, 
to  her  who  almost  daily  had  to  cover  up  his  blunders ;  how 
in  helping  her  with  the  gardening  he  never  went  beyond 
either  approving  her  ideas  or  offering  suggestions  already 
stated  in  the  books;  how  she  was  constantly  coming  across 
things  she  had  thought  original  with  him  only  because  she 
happened  not  to  have  read  the  books  that  contained  them 
or  to  have  known  the  phase  of  life  in  which  they  were 
familiar  commonplaces.  Angry  though  an  untruth  about 
anyone  or  anything  we  love  makes  us,  that  anger  is  as  equa- 
nimity itself  beside  the  anger  roused  by  a  disagreeable 
truth. 

As  they  neared  the  house  she  quickened  her  pace,  hur- 
rying not  so  much  from  Richard  as  from  her  own  thoughts 
— the  thoughts  his  words  had  startled  from  unexpected 

363 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

lurking  places  as  a  sudden  light  sets  bats  to  whirling. 
Courtney  was  loyal  through  and  through;  also,  she  clung 
to  Basil  like  a  shipwrecked  sailor  to  a  life  raft.  The 
stronger  the  waves  of  adverse  destiny  or  of  doubt,  the 
fiercer  she  clung  to  her  life  raft.  In  face  of  the  clearest 
proof  from  without  against  Basil,  she  would  have  shut  her 
eyes  and  held  fast  to  him.  Yet  with  devilish  malice  and 
merciless  persistence  circumstances  were  now  constantly  tak- 
ing her  blind  resolute  loyalty  by  surprise  and  forcing  upon 
her  exhibitions  of  him  as  a  shallow  and  sensual  person.  A 
proud,  intelligent  woman's  love  could  reconcile  itself  to 
either  of  these — to  a  shallow  man  whose  passion  was  simply 
symbol  of  deep  and  sincere  love ;  or,  to  a  sensual  man  whose 
grossness  was  the  coarse  rich  soil  that  sent  up  and  nour- 
ished high  intelligence,  fascinating  and  compelling.  Bu';  no 
woman  worth  while  as  a  human  being  could  continue  to  love 
a  shallow  man  treating  her  as  mere  "  symbol  of  the  sensual 
side  of  life "  because  he  was  incapable  of  appreciating 
any  but  physical  qualities,  and  then  simply  as  physical 
qualities. 

It  was  with  a  heart  defiantly  loving,  defiantly  loyal, 
that  she  met  Basil  at  eleven  that  night  to  admit  him.  He 
had  not  appeared  either  at  the  house  or  at  the  laboratory 
during  the  afternoon  or  for  supper  or  afterwards.  So,  she 
had  not  seen  him  siace  Richard's  "  attack  on  him  behind  his 
back  " — for,  she  had  succeeded  in  convincing  herself  that 
Richard's  accusations  were  an  outcropping  of  prejudice 
against  him.  She  felt  humble  toward  him  because  she  had 
listened  without  bursting  out  in  his  defense — this,  though 
to  defend  would  have  been  the  height  of  stupid  imprudence. 
As  he  entered  the  door  she  softly  opened,  he  lurched  against 
her,  stumbled  over  the  rug,  saved  himself  by  catching  hold 
of  her  and  almost  bringing  her  down.  A  wave  of  suspicion, 

364 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

of  sickening  fear  and  repulsion  shuddered  through  her. 
But  she  frowned  herself  down,  took  him  firmly  by  the 
arm. 

"  Be  careful/'  she  whispered.  "  The  floor  was  polished 
only  yesterday." 

He  mumbled  something  affectionate  and  without  wait- 
ing for  her  to  close  the  door,  embraced  her.  From  him 
exhaled  the  powerful  odor  of  mixed  tobacco  and  whisky 
that  proclaims  the  drunken  man  to  the  most  inexperienced, 
to  those  blindest  of  the  blind — the  blind  who  dare  not  see. 
She  gently  released  herself.  Several  times  of  late  he  had 
come  to  her  in  almost  this  condition;  she  had  forced  herself 
to  deny,  to  excuse,  to  minimize.  Now,  however,  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  risk  admitting  him ;  and  also,  she  sud- 
denly realized  she  had  reached  the  breaking  point  of  her 
courage  to  keep  up  her  self-deception.  "  You  must  go  at 
once,"  she  said. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  demanded  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  His  be- 
fuddled mind  reverted  to  Helen  as  if  Courtney  knew  about 
her.  "  What  right  have  you  got  to  be  jealous,  if  I'm 
not?" 

She  did  not  puzzle  over  this  remark.  "  Basil,  you  must 
go  at  once  because  you've  been  drinking  too  much."  The 
danger  was  too  imminent  to  be  trifled  with  in  diplomatic 
phrases. 

He  stood,  swaying  unsteadily,  his  head  hanging.  "  If 
you  think  so — "  he  muttered. 

She  urged  him  gently  toward  the  door. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  mumbled.  "  I — I  guess 
you're  right." 

He  backed  two  steps.  As  soon  as  he  was  clear  of  the 
door  she  closed  and  locked  it.  Slowly  she  went  upstairs, 
dropped  wearily  into  bed.  She  lay  quiet  a  few  minutes, 
24  365 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

staring  at  the  arc  of  the  night  lamp.  Then  on  an  impulse 
from  an  instinct  that  could  not  be  disobeyed,  she  rose,  took 
a  dark  dressing  gown,  wrapped  it  round  her.  She  glided 
along  the  hall,  descended  the  stairs,  opened  the  lake-front 
door.  Closing  it  behind  her,  she  stood  at  the  edge  of  the 
veranda.  The  sky  was  black;  a  few  drops  of  rain  were 
falling.  She  made  an  effort,  ran  down  the  steps,  hurried 
across  the  lawn  and  along  the  path  to  the  Smoke  House. 
The  entrance  door  to  the  apartment  stairway  was  open. 
She  hesitated,  slowly  ascended.  He  did  not  appear  at  the 
sound  of  her  steps.  His  bedroom  door  was  open.  She 
glanced  in.  His  bed  was  turned  down,  his  pajamas  lay 
ready  upon  the  folded-over  covers.  But  he  was  not  there. 
She  went  on  to  the  door  of  his  sitting  room.  It  too  was 
open.  At  the  table  desk  and  facing  the  door  he  sat,  half- 
collapsed  on  the  chair,  one  hand  round  a  tall  glass  of 
whisky  and  water,  the  bottle  and  a  carafe  at  his  elbow. 
Though  her  mind  was  on  him,  her  eyes  took  in  and  forced 
upon  her  every  tiny  detail  of  the  room;  she  had  made  it 
over  that  his  surroundings  might  always  remind  him  of  her. 
He  lifted  his  heavy  head,  blinked  stupidly  at  her.  She 
noted  his  face  with  the  same  morbid  acuteness  to  detail — 
his  swollen  eyes,  his  puffy  lips,  the  veins  in  his  forehead, 
his  brows  knitted  in  a  foolishly  solemn  expression.  Never 
had  he  seemed  so  homely,  since  her  first  glance  at  him  when 
he  came  there  a  stranger. 

After  a  moment  of  dazed  sodden  staring  at  her,  he  re- 
membered his  manners,  rose  not  without  difficulty  and  stood, 
stiff  and  unsteadily  swaying.  "  Give  me  some  of  the 
whisky,"  said  she,  advancing.  "  I  feel  sort  of  queer."  She 
dropped  to  the  chair  he  had  just  left  and  took  up  his  glass. 
"  May  I  have  your  drink  ?  "  she  asked,  and  without  waiting 
for  a  reply  drank  eagerly.  Color  returned  to  her  cheeks, 

366 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

and  her  eyes  became  less  heavy  and  dull.  "  I'm  better — 
very  much  better,"  she  declared,  as  she  set  the  glass  down 
empty. 

He  had  seated  himself  lumpishly  on  the  sofa.  They 
remained  silent,  gazing  out  through  the  open  window  into 
the  darkness  and  hearing  the  soothing  musical  plash  of 
rain  on  lake.  In  upon  them  poured  a  freshness  rather 
than  a  breeze  and  the  pleasant  odor  of  drenching  foli- 
age. "  As  I  lay  there  thinking,"  she  said  presently,  "  it 
came  to  me  that  I  mustn't  let  this  night  pass  without 
seeing  you  and  making  it  smooth  and  straight  between 
us." 

The  shock  of  her  appearing  had  for  the  moment  beaten 
down  his  intoxication.  It  was  now  boiling  up  again,  heat- 
ing his  nerves  and  his  imagination,  though  he  seemed  sober 
and  self-possessed.  "  All  right,"  said  he.  "  I  know  you 
didn't  mean  to  insult  me,  and  I'll  forget  it." 

She  gazed  quickly  at  him  in  amazement,  started  to 
speak,  checked  herself. 

"  But  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  his  tone  and 
gestures  forcible- feeble,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  this  business 
of  my  being  shut  out  has  got  to  stop.  You  must  arrange 
for  Vaughan  to  come  down  here  to  live,  and  for  me  to 
take  his  rooms  up  at  the  house." 

This  demand  seemed  to  her  as  utterly  unlike  him  as 
the  dictatorial  tone  in  which  it  was  made.  To  condemn 
him — no,  more — not  to  love  him  the  more  tenderly — be- 
cause he  was  in  this  mood  of  distracted  desperation  would 
be  unworthy  of  the  love  she  professed.  She  crushed 
down  her  sense  of  repulsion,  went  to  him,  la^d  her  cheek 
against  his  hair.  "  My  love,"  she  murmured.  "  We 
mustn't  ever  forget  that  we  have  only  each  other.  We'll 
never  let  any  misunderstanding  come  between  us,  no  mat- 

367 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

ter  how  blue  we  get."  And  she  turned  his  head  and  kissed 
him. 

With  an  intoxicated  man's  fickleness,  he  switched 
abruptly  from  anger  to  sentiment.  His  eyes  became  moist 
and  shiny.  A  sensual  drunken  smile  played  round  his 
heavy  mouth.  She  saw  though  she  was  trying  hard  not 
to  see.  He  reached  round  and  drew  her  toward  his  lap. 
She  gently  resisted,  while  she  was  nerving  herself  to 
submit — would  it  not  be  a  very  poor  sort  of  love  that 
would  let  itself  be  chilled  by  a  mood — a  mood  in  which 
all  love's  warmth,  all  love's  gentleness  were  needed  as 
they  are  not  needed  when  everything  is  pleasant  and 
easy? 

The  tears  of  self-pity  welled  into  his  eyes.  "  God,  how 
low  I've  sunk !  "  He  got  himself  on  his  uncertain  legs, 
arranged  his  features  into  a  caricature  of  an  expression  of 
dignified  command.  "  I  want  you  to  send  Helen — Miss 
March — away,"  he  said,  waving  his  finger  at  her.  "  She's 
a  pure  woman.  She  mustn't  be  contaminated." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  horror.     "  Basil !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes — I  mean  it.  Oh,  you  understand.  I'm  not  fit  to 
'sociate  with  her — and  neither  are  you." 

With  a  wild  cry,  she  turned  to  fly.  He  lurched  for- 
ward, caught  her  by  the  arm.  "  But  we're  just  about  fit 
for  each  other,"  he  said.  "  And  that's  the  truth — if  I  am 
drunk."  He  nodded  at  her.  "  I  should  say,  '  That's  the 
truth  because  I  am  drunk.'  It's  giving  me  the  courage 
to  speak  out  a  few  things  that've  been  gnawing  at  my 
insides  for  weeks."  And  his  fingers  clasped  her  arm  like 
steel  nippers. 

"  Basil !     You're  hurting  me." 

"  That's  what  I  feel  like  doing."  And  in  his  eyes  as  in 
IMS  fingers  there  was  revealed  the  sheer  sensual  ferocity 

368 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

that  drink  had  freed  of  the  shame  which  at  other  times 
held  it  in  restraint. 

She  hung  her  head.  In  a  low  voice  she  stammered, 
"  You're  making  me  feel  there  isn't  any  love  for  me  any- 
where in  your  heart." 

"  Love  ?  "  he  said,  swaying  to  and  fro  and  opening  and 
closing  his  eyes  stupidly.  "  Love.  Oh,  yes  there  is.  Yes, 
indeed.  Sometimes  I  think  not,  but  it  isn't  so.  It's  because 
I  love  you  that  I  go  crazy  at  the  thought  that  I'm  sharing 
you." 

"  Sharing  me!  "  She  wrenched  herself  free,  put  her 
arm  over  her  eyes  as  if  she  could  thus  hide  from  herself 
the  sight  of  his  soul  which  in  drunken  abandon  he  had 
completely  unmasked. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  he  maundered  on.  "  I'm  a  man 
of  honor — '  honor  rooted  in  dishonor '  as  Tennyson  says. 
I'll  not  go.  I'll  submit  to  it — all  right.  Love  gives  a  man 
a  stomach  for  anything." 

She  wished  to  fly,  but  her  legs  would  not  carry  her. 
She  had  to  stay — and  listen. 

"How  I've  been  dragged  down!  How  a  woman  can 
drag  a  man  down !  Not  Helen — no — she's  an  angel.  But 
those  good  women  never  are  as  fascinating  as  you  others. 
.  .  .  Love  ?  "  He  beamed  upon  her  like  a  drunken  satyr. 
"  Let's  love  and  be  happy.  To  hell  with  everything  but 
love." 

As  she  listened  and  looked  she,  for  the  first  time  since 
they  had  been  lovers,  felt  that  she  had  sinned — had  sinned 
without  justification.  The  judgment  of  guilt  dazzled  and 
stunned  her  as  the  sun's  full  light  eyes  from  which  the 
scales  have  just  fallen.  She  stood  paralyzed,  yet  won- 
dering how  she  could  remain  erect  under  the  weight  of  her 
vileness — for,  her  sin  seemed  as  heavy  and  as  vile  as  ever 


HUNGRY  HEART 


celibate  fanatic  asserted.  When  her  lover  moved  to  em- 
brace her,  she,  with  the  motion  of  shrinking  from  him, 
found  she  had  strength  and  power  to  fly.  She  rushed  from 
the  room,  he  stumbling  after  her,  and  crying  "  Courtney ! 
Don't  get  jealous  and  go  off  mad " 


XXIV 

SHE  knew  the  truth  at  last — the  whole  truth — what  he 
was  in  mind  and  in  heart,  what  his  love  was,  what  he  in  his 
inmost  soul  thought  about  her,  about  himself.  The  man 
who  could  believe  he  was  sharing  her  could  not  but  be 
shallow  indeed,  stupid,  and  also  incapable  of  understand- 
ing the  meaning  of  the  word  love;  the  man  who  could 
keep  on  with  a  woman  he  believed  he  was  "  sharing," 
must  be  sunk  in  a  wallow  of  sensuality — and  as  weak  as 
low.  She  knew  the  truth.  Hearing  she  might  have  dis- 
puted and  in  time  denied.  But  there  was,  and  would  be, 
no  evading  the  records  stamped  clear  and  indelible  upon 
her  memory  by  that  sensual,  maudlin  face.  To  falsify  those 
records  was  beyond  even  a  proud,  lonely,  loving  woman's 
all  but  limitless  powers  of  self-deception  in  matters  of  the 
heart.  The  coarseness  of  that  self-revelation  of  his  was 
the  liquor;  but  the  revelation  itself  was  the  man.  He  did 
not  love;  he  lusted.  He  did  not  love;  he  despised — her 
and  himself.  He  did  not  love — and  he  never  had  loved. 

There  is  in  every  one  of  us  a  chamber  where  vanity 
and  hope  live  and  ever  conspire  to  deceive,  and  if  possible, 
destroy  us.  From  that  secret  chamber  she  now  wrenched 
an  amazing  secret.  She  discovered  that  from  the  begin- 
ning— yes,  from  the  beginning — she,  determined  to  satisfy 
the  craving  of  elemental  flesh  and  blood,  had  been  lying  to 
herself  about  Basil  Gallatin.  Passion  had  taken  sly  ad- 
vantage of  her  loneliness  and  her  longing  for  sympathy  and 
companionship ;  it  had  beguiled  her  imagination  into  ere- 

371 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

ating  out  of  the  very  ordinary  materials  of  his  true  per- 
sonality the  lover  she  had  been  adoring.  One  by  one  she 
took  out  and  reexamined  all  her  memory  plates  of  him. 
Now,  a  memory  plate  is  like  any  other  photographic  plate; 
it  has  a  surface  picture  and  it  also  yields  to  a  close  scrutiny 
a  thousand  details  which  do  not  appear  upon  the  surface. 
Long  before  she  finished,  she  was  realizing  that  she  had 
all  along,  with  the  deliberate  craft  of  self-deception,  been 
hiding  from  herself  the  trick  her  feelings  were  practicing 
upon  her  intelligence.  Basil — pleasing  manners  and  dress, 
amiable  disposition,  animalism  agreeably  disguised  by  edu- 
cation— Basil  had  been  plausible  enough  to  pass  muster 
with  her,  ready  and  eager  to  be  deluded  because  of  her 
craving  for  love.  True,  he  had  posed  to  a  certain  extent. 
But  he  was  not  really  responsible  for  the  fraud.  The 
blame  was  hers — all  hers. 

But  disillusion  no  more  destroys  a  love  longing  than 
lack  of  food  and  drink  destroys  hunger  and  thirst.  High 
above  moans  of  shame  over  the  pitiful  collapse  of  her 
romance  rose  the  defiant  clamors  of  hunger  and  thirst. 
They  had  been  lovers,  he  and  she;  and  that  fact  in  itself 
was  a  bond  which  a  woman,  at  least  a  woman  of  her  tem- 
perament of  fidelity,  could  not  easily  break.  She  feared 
when  he,  sober  and  a  gentleman  once  more,  sweet  and  win- 
ning, came  to  her  and  pleaded  for  forgiveness  she  would 
forgive — would  in  her  loneliness  and  heart  hunger  take 
what  she  could  get  rather  than  have  nothing  and  the  ache 
of  nothingness.  It  is — at  least,  it  has  been,  up  to  and  into 
the  present  time — second  nature  to  woman  to  depend  upon 
a  man,  to  select  some  one  man,  the  best  available,  and  stake 
everything  upon  him.  Basil  Gallatin  was  that  man  for 
her.  And — not  in  novels,  but  in  life — before  any  woman, 
however  high  minded,  goes  away  to  utter  aloneness  from 

372 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

a  man  who  cares  for  her,  he  must  have  disclosed  some 
traits  more  abhorrent  than  any  such  human  traits  as  those 
of  Basil.  Yes — human.  Was  it  his  fault  that  he  had  not 
given  her  the  kind  of  love  she  wanted?  Was  it  not  prob- 
ably her  fault  that  he  had  not  been  inspired  to  that  kind 
of  love?  Perhaps,  too,  the  love  of  any  man,  could  it  be 
seen  in  the  nakedness  of  drunkenness,  would  be  much  like 
Basil's.  "  I'm  only  a  woman,"  she  said.  "  I  mustn't  for- 
get that.  I've  no  right  to  expect  much."  And  then  she 
shuddered;  for  in  her  very  ears  was  the  sound  of  those 
cold  rains  falling  day  and  night  upon  her  loneliness  and 
despair. 

She  saw  herself  accepting;  for,  a  great  deal  less  than 
half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no  bread.  And  if  she  accepted, 
she  must  adapt  herself — must  force  herself  to  acquire  a 
liking  for  what  she  must  eat  or  go  altogether  hungry.  She 
saw  herself  wending  down  and  down — to  the  level  at  which 
he  had  from  the  beginning  thought  her  arrived.  She 
looked  a\i  around.  Nothing — no  one — to  save  her.  For, 
what  could  she  hope  from  Richard? — from  any  man?  Was 
not  Basil  giving  about  the  best  man  had  to  offer  woman 
in  the  way  of  association?  There  was  the  Richard  sort  of 
man — an  abstraction — an  impossibility.  There  was  the 
Shirley  Drummond  sort  of  man — a  human  incarnation  of 
Old  Dog  Tray — equally  impossible.  There  was  the  third 
sort  of  man — the  Basil  sort,  somewhere  between  the  two 
impossibilities.  Life  must  be  lived,  and  with  human  be- 
ings. Of  the  three  available  kinds  of  associates,  was  not 
the  Basil  sort  the  most  livable?  Rather  Basil  than 
being  frozen  to  death  by  a  Richard  or  bored  to  death  by 
a  Shirley.  The  conclusion  seemed  cynical;  but  there 
was  no  cynicism  in  the  sad  woman  who  faced  that  con- 
clusion. 

373 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 


She  did  not  go  down  to  breakfast;  and  Basil,  she 
learned,  kept  away  also.  When  he  did  not  appear  at  din- 
ner she  knew  he  had  determined  to  wait  until  he  should 
surely  see  her  alone.  The  emotion  that  stirred  in  her 
because  his  place  at  the  table  was  vacant  gave  her  more 
and  sadder  light  upon  how  little  the  heart  heeds  the  things 
that  impress  the  mind  and  the  self-respect.  About  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  she  was  at  the  small  antique  desk 
in  the  corner  of  her  sitting  room,  trying  to  write  a  letter. 
But  the  charm  of  the  day,  the  beauty  of  full-foliaged  trees, 
of  lake  and  cloudless  sky  seen  through  the  creeper-framed 
window,  would  not  let  her  write.  As  she  gazed,  her  unhap- 
piness  calmed  and  all  her  senses  flooded  with  the  joy  that 
laughs  in  sunbeams,  in  light  and  shadow  floating  on  the 
grass,  in  flight  and  song  of  birds,  in  grace  and  color  and 
perfume  of  flowers,  the  joy  that  mocks  at  moral  struggle 
and  flutters  alluringly  the  gay  banner  of  the  gospel  of 
eat,  drink  and  be  merry. 

As  she  took  her  pen  to  go  on  with  the  letter,  Lizzie 
appeared  in  the  hall  doorway.  "  Mr.  Vaughan  asked  me 
to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  that  he'd  gone  out  and  might  not 
be  back  for  supper." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Courtney,  not  turning  round.  It 
flitted  across  her  mind  that  this  was  an  extraordinary  mes- 
sage for  Richard  to  send — Richard  who  came  and  went 
as  he  pleased  and  sent  no  word  when  he  was  not  coming 
to  dinner  or  supper.  "  Where's  he  gone  ?  "  she  asked — an 
extraordinary  question  from  her  to  match  the  extraordinary 
message  from  him. 

"  He  was  in  a  hurry  and  didn't  say,"  replied  Lizzie. 
"  I'll  find  out." 

"  Oh,  no.     It  doesn't  matter." 

Lizzie  went,  and  in  her  dreaming  and  thinking  Court- 
374 


THEHUNGRY   HEART 

ney  soon  forgot  the  incident.  Again  Lizzie's  voice  inter- 
rupted— "  Mr.  Vaughan's  gone  to  see  old  Nanny." 

"  Nanny !  "  said  Courtney.  She  never  thought  of 
the  old  woman  except  as  the  memorandum  of  her  pen- 
sion check  appeared  every  three  months  in  the  household 
accounts. 

"  Yes.  She's  dying.  She  sent  for  him.  Such  dread- 
ful roads  too." 

Courtney's  pen  halted  on  its  way  to  the  ink  well.  The 
room  seemed  to  her  to  have  become  terribly  still. 

"  She  sent  him  word/'  Lizzie  went  carelessly  on,  and 
her  voice  seemed  to  come  from  a  distance,  through  a  pro- 
found hush,  "  that  she  had  something  on  her  conscience 
and  couldn't  go  without  clearing  it.  I  reckon  she's  gone 
clean  crazy." 

It  was  not  fear  that  made  nerve  and  muscle  tense. 
It  was  not  self-control  that  held  her  motionless.  The  peril 
was  upon  her;  there  was  no  time  to  waste  in  emotion.  All 
along,  she  had  pretended  to  herself  that  Nanny  knew 
nothing,  had  at  worst  a  dim  suspicion.  Now,  she  realized 
that  she  had  always  feared  the  old  woman  had  seen  and 
had  heard.  And  those  words  of  Lizzie's  made  it  impos- 
sible for  her  to  doubt  what  was  about  to  occur.  No  time 
for  terror,  for  hysteria  or  fainting  or  futile  moaning.  Her 
whole  being  concentrated  on  the  one  idea,  What  shall  I  do? 

Calmly  she  said  to  Lizzie,  "  Has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Ten  minutes  ago — maybe  fifteen." 

"  Did  he  take  the  motor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  She's  near  dead.  He  went  in  a  great 
hurry." 

Idle  then  to  think  of  overtaking  him,  of  bringing  him 
back  with  a  story  that  Winchie  was  missing,  was  perhaps 
drowned  in  the  lake.  Her  mind — it  had  never  been  clearer 

375 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


or  steadier — gave  Richard  up  for  the  moment,  turned  to 
another  phase.  "Where  is  Mr.  Gallatin?"  she  asked. 

"  Out  on  the  lake.     Winchie's  with  him — fishing." 

"  When  they  come  in,  please  tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him 
at  once."  The  events  of  last  night  were  as  if  they  had 
not  been.  Wounds  closed  up  like  magic;  once  more  it  was 
she  and  Basil  her  lover  united  against  the  whole  world. 

"  I  can  call  him  from  the  wall/'  suggested  Lizzie. 

"  Yes — please  do."  She  dipped  the  pen  as  if  about 
to  go  on  with  the  interrupted  letter.  Lizzie  went.  She 
laid  the  pen  down,  leaned  back  in  the  chair,  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head,  gazed  unseeingly  into  the  huge 
tree  almost  directly  before  the  window.  The  irony  of  it! 
Through  Nanny  whom  they  had  forgotten !  The  blow  was 
about  to  fall — utter  ruin — the  end  of  love — of  life  prob- 
ably. A  few  hours  and  there  would  be  a  convulsion  of  the 
most  awful  passions.  She  looked  round.  Everything  calm, 
bright,  beautiful.  Reason  told  her  what  was  about  to  occur ; 
but  there  are  calamities  which  the  imagination  cannot  pic- 
ture, and  this  was  one  of  them.  .  .  .  Should  she  tell  Basil  ? 
"  Nanny  may  be  dead  before  Richard  gets  to  her.  If  I 
tell  Basil — and  Richard  comes,  only  suspicious — Basil's 
manner  may  confirm  him."  It  was  still  more  significant 
that  it  did  not  enter  her  head  as  even  a  possibility  that 
Basil  might  be  able  to  help  her  devise  some  plan  to  avert 
or  to  mitigate  the  blow.  ...  In  the  midst  of  'her  debate 
whether  to  tell  him,  she  suddenly  gave  a  terrible  cry,  sprang 
to  the  window,  her  expression  wildly  disheveled.  The 
thought  had  flashed,  "If  Richard  hears  and  believes,  he 
will  kill  Basil !  " 

Before  she  reached  the  balcony  rail,  reason  took  her 
by  the  shoulder,  drew  her  back  to  her  chair.  "  I  must 
keep  my  head!"  she  exclaimed  aloud.  And  she  fought 

376 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

down  and  triumphed  over  the  terror  that  had  all  but  mas- 
tered her.  At  Gallatin's  step  on  the  threshold  she  did  not 
turn.  "  Shut  the  door/'  she  said  in  her  usual  voice.  Then, 
after  the  sound  of  its  closing,  "  Nanny,  on  her  deathbed, 
has  sent  for  him — to  confess  something.  He's  gone  to 
her." 

She  heard  him  slowly  cross  the  room,  knew  he  was 
standing  at  the  window.  After  a  while  she  stole  a  glance 
at  him.  His  skin  was  gray,  his  profile  set ;  there  were  deep 
lines  round  his  mouth.  She  liked  his  face,  it  was  so  manly; 
a  wave  of  love  surged  out  from  her  heart.  "  How  long 
shall  we  have  to  wait?  "  he  asked.  The  voice,  though 
wholly  unlike  his  own,  had  no  note  of  cowardice  in  it. 

"  He's  been  gone  about  half  an  hour." 

"  Only  half  an  hour !  " 

She  saw  the  sweat  burst  out  upon  his  forehead.  She 
saw  the  muscles  of  his  face  trembling.  There  was  agony 
in  his  eyes — not  fear,  but  that  horror  of  suspense 
which  makes  the  trapped  soldier  rush  upon  the  bayonet, 
makes  the  man  on  the  scaffold  assist  the  leisurely  hang- 
man. 

Silence,  except  the  chirping  of  the  birds.  A  bumblebee 
buzzed  almost  into  his  face ;  he  did  not  wince.  A  black-and- 
gold  butterfly  fluttered  in  at  the  window  on  the  other  side 
of  the  desk,  hovered,  settled  upon  the  lid  of  the  stationery 
box,  rested  with  wings  together  as  one.  She  turned  her 
eyes  from  him  to  watch  it,  said  absently: 

"  You  will  have  to  go  at  once." 

She  heard  him  turn  full  toward  her.  She  was  expect- 
ing that  quick  movement,  but  she  could  not  help  shrinking 
a  little.  However  she  went  on  evenly :  "  You  can  cross  in 
the  motor  boat,  take  a  trap  at  Wenona,  catch  the  four- 
o'clock  express  at  Fenton." 

377 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  deserve  that/'  he  said,  and  she  knew  he  was  re- 
ferring to  last  night. 

She  hesitated,  went  straight  at  it.  "  I'd  forgotten  last 
night  since  Lizzie  told  me  about  Nanny.  It's  wiped  out. 
So,  you  need  think  only  of  going." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
—go?" 

She  was  ready.  She  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  well- 
simulated  surprise.  Then —  "  Oh !  "  she  cried.  "  I've 
been  thinking  it  out,  and  you  haven't.  At  first  glance  it 
does  look  as  if  we  ought  to  face  it  together.  But  as  you 
consider  it  you'll  see  you've  simply  got  to  go." 

He  seated  himself,  took  out  his  cigarette  case,  lighted 
a  cigarette.  "If  I  go  anywhere  it  will  be  in  his  direction, 
to  shorten  the  wait." 

"  Listen,"  said  she,  leaning  toward  him,  her  forearms 
on  the  desk,  her  hands  clasped.  "  He'll  have  but  one  idea 
— to  kill  you.  If  you're  here,  the  very  sight  of  you  will 
set  him  wild.  He'll  kill  you — how  can  you  defend  your- 
self? " 

"  I  can't.     Vaughan  has  the  right  to  my  life." 

She  winced  at  this  unconscious  ugly  reminder  of  what 
he  really  thought  of  their  romance.  She  waved  her  hand 
as  if  brushing  something  away.  "  No  matter  about  that," 
said  she.  "  I'm  thinking  how  to  save  Winchie  from  dis- 
grace— and  my  own  life.  If  you're  here,  there's  no  hope. 
If  you're  gone,  he'll  have  the  chance  to  reflect.  And  I 
shall  know  what  to  say  and  how  to  say  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  knew  anything." 

"  Basil !  "     His  eyes  shifted.     "  Don't  you  remember?  " 

Both  were  hearing  the  mad  flapping  of  that  frightened 
bird  in  the  copse  round  the  summerhouse.  She  shivered; 
he  moved  uneasily.  "  Even  if  she  knew,"  he  objected, 

378 


"  she  may  be  dead  or  in  the  stupor  of  death  before  he  gets 
to  her." 

"  Then  he'll  hear  nothing,  and  there's  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  go.  I'll  say  you  got  a  telegram  from  your 
mother " 

"If  he  comes  merely  suspecting  and  uneasy,  and  I'm 
gone " 

"  Still  he'd  not  be  sure,"  she  interrupted.  "  And  if  he 
were,  he'd  not  have  the  sight  of  you  to  inflame  him."  She 
rose.  "  There's  no  time  to  waste." 

He  settled  himself.  "  I  shall  not  go.  We  face  him 
together." 

The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece  struck.  She  gave  a 
cry,  rushed  to  him.  "  Basil — my  love !  "  she  implored. 
"If  you  love  me,  go — go !  " 

He  pressed  his  hands  to  her  cheeks  tenderly,  smiled 
at  her  with  the  gentle  tolerance  of  superior  male  for  female. 
"  I  understand,  dear.  This  is  like  you.  But  my  honor 
will  not  let  me  go." 

She  released  his  hand,  stood  gazing  at  him.  In  the 
beginning  she  had  urged  only  because  she  had  wished 
to  save  him.  But  she  had  been  convinced  by  her  own 
arguments;  and  it  amazed  her  that  he  was  refusing  to  see 
what  was  so  clear.  "  You — will — not — go  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  Courtney.     I  cannot." 

She  brushed  the  strays  of  hair  from  her  brow.  She 
laughed  scornfully,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug.  "  Whether 
you  two  men  kill  each  other  or  are  only  wounded,  still 
Winchie  and  I  will  be  disgraced.  You  may  be  only  wound- 
ed— may  get  over  it  in  a  week  or  so — or  you  two  may  only 
have  a  vulgar  fight — with  the  servants  looking  on.  In  any 
case  I  am  done  for." 

He  was  like  a  horse  when  the  spur  is  bidding  it  advance 
379 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

and  the  curb  is  bidding  it  halt.  "  If  I  stay,"  lie  cried, 
"  you'll  despise  me.  If  I  go,  you'll  despise  me." 

"  If  you  stay  you  destroy  me.  If  you  go,  I  can  save 
myself.  Will  you  go  or  not  ?  Oh,  after  last  night — this  on 
top  of  that —  And,  after  last  night,  you  can  debate  whether 
or  not  I'll  despise  you!  Go,  I  tell  you!  You  couldn't 
sink  any  lower  than  you  have — and  you  may  redeem  your- 
self." They  were  facing  each  other,  he  white  before  her 
scorn  and  fury.  "  But  not,"  she  went  on,  "  if  to  what  you 
said  and  did  then  you  add  debating  a  point  of  cheap  pose 
when  I  and  my  child  are  at  stake.  What  a  shallow,  vain 
creature  you  are !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  these  things  ?  Or  are  you  only  pretend- 
ing, to  make  me  fly  and  save  myself?  " 

"  I  mean  every  word.  In  spite  of  last  night,  of  all  it 
taught  me,  I  was  still  hoping — or,  trying  to  hope.  But  now 
—  Thank  God  I  had  Winchie  when  I  met  you,  and  wasn't 
free  to  make  an  utter  fool  of  myself.  A  man  who  could 
betray  his  friend  for  lust,  and  then  betray  his  mistress  for 
vanity !  " 

His  eyes  blazed  mingled  hate  and  passion  at  her.  "  But 
you'll  go  with  me  now !  "  he  cried,  in  triumphant  fury. 
"Yes,  we'll  take  that  train  together.  The  jig's  up,  and, 
damn  you,  you  witch,  you've  got  to  go  with  me." 

She  was  shaking  with  fright.  For  the  moment  she 
could  think  of  no  answer.  She  was  under  the  spell  of  the 
terrible  expression  of  his  eyes. 

"  If  he  comes  looking  for  some  one  to  kill,  he'll  kill 
you  if  he  can't  get  us  both.  So — we  go  together,  or  die 
together,  as  you  please." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  seating  herself.  "  Oh,  how  like 
you  this  is !  You  know  that  if  we  fly,  my  boy  is  smirched 
for  life — and  I  too.  You  know  that  if  I  stay,  I  may  save 

380 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

everything — even  your  life.      If  we   went,   Richard  would 
never  rest  till  he'd  hunted  us  down  and  killed  us." 

"  I've  lost  you,"  said  he  sullenly.  "  I  don't  care  what 
happens.  I  feel  like  killing  you  myself."  He  straight- 
ened up.  "  Why  not?  "  he  cried.  "  Kill  you,  then  myself 
— get  it  all  over  with." 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  shout  from  Winchie  play- 
ing with  the  neighbor's  children  on  the  lawn.  That  sound 
compelled  her  to  another  effort.  She  went  to  Basil,  laid 
her  hands  gently  on  his  shoulders.  "Basil,"  she  pleaded, 
tears  in  her  eyes,  in  her  voice,  "  for  my  boy's  sake — for 
my  sake — go !  Now  that  you  think  about  it  you  can't  but 
see  it's  the  decent,  the  honorable  thing  to  do.  Let's  not 
quarrel — we  who  have  been  so  much  to  each  other.  Go  and 
let  us  save  everything." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  she  knew  that  if  he  had 
drunk  as  much  that  day  as  he  did  the  day  before,  he  would 
have  killed  her  and  himself.  But  she  saw  that  he,  sober, 
was  hesitating,  was  moved  by  her  appeal  to  his  generous, 
kind  nature,  overflowing  with  sentimentality.  "  Dear,"  she 
said,  "  you  can  row  out  on  the  lake.  And  if  everything's 
all  right  I'll  hang  something  white  on  this  shutter  here. 
Then  you  can  come  back.  Even  if  he  comes  home  sus- 
picious he'll  not  think  it  strange  that  you're  on  the  lake 
late." 

"  But  he  may  come  to  kill,  and  before  I  could  get 
back " 

"  But  he  will  not  kill  me,  I  tell  you.  I'm  '  only  a 
woman.'  I  know  him.  You  know,  too.  And  if  he  would, 
how  could  you  save  me?  Would  I  want  to  live  disgraced?  " 
The  clock  struck  again.  She  gave  a  scream,  flung  her 
arms  round  his  neck.  "  Save  me,  Basil !  Go — quick  ! — 
quick !  " 

25  381 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

After  the  frightful  things  she  had  said  to  him  and  he 
to  her,  there  was  left  him  only  the  choice  between  going 
and  killing  her  and  himself.  On  the  threshold  he,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  embraced  her  and  kissed  her.  "  God  help 
me,  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go.  If  it 
turns  out  wrong,  remember  how  you  perplexed  me — and 
try  to  forgive  me,  dear." 

He  was  so  genuine,  so  manly  and  loving  and  she  felt 
so  grateful  to  him  that  her  own  eyes  filled  and  she  gave 
him  her  lips  with  her  heart  in  them. 

She  stood  at  the  window;  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
balcony.  But  she  watched  the  lake  in  vain.  Five  minutes 
ten — fifteen,  and  no  Basil —  Winchie  came  with  his  usual 
rush,  flung  himself  into  the  hammock.  "  What  is  it, 
mamraa  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

She  startled,  turned  on  him  with  eyes  wild.  "  Oh !  " 
she  gasped,  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "  I  didn't  know  you 
were  there." 

"  Are  you  watching  for  Mr.  Gallatin?  " 

"  Why,  dear  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  you  are,  he  came  in  with  me  a  long  time 
ago  and  isn't  out  there  any  more." 

A  silence,  she  trying  to  keep  her  gaze  off  the  lake. 

"  I  like  him,"  the  boy  went  on.  "  At  least,  some  bet- 
ter than  I  did.  He  knows  a  lot  about  fishing.  When  papa 
blows  himself  up  and  never  comes  down  any  more,  as 
Jimmie  says  he  will  some  day,  I  think  I'll  let  Mr.  Gallatin 
stay  on  with  us." 

Courtney  scarcely  heard.  She  was  grinding  her  palms 
together  and  muttering  incoherently  when  at  last  she  saw 
his  boat  pushing  leisurely  in  the  direction  of  Wenona.  She 
drew  a  long  breath.  But  as  the  boat  glided  farther  and 
farther  away,  her  sick  heart  failed  her.  She  felt  aban- 

382 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

doned — and  afraid.     For,  she  had  not  told  the  truth  when 
she  said  she  knew  Richard  would  not  kill  her. 

Winchie  stayed  on,  talking  incessantly  and  no  more  dis- 
turbed by  her  inattention  than  babbling  brook  or  trilling 
bird  by  lack  of  audience.  His  chatter  fretted  her  like  the 
rapping  of  a  branch  on  the  window  of  an  invalid.  But 
she  would  not  send  him  away.  If  Richard  should  come, 
Winchie's  being  there  would  halt  him — perhaps,  just  long 
enough.  After  an  hour  Winchie  grew  tired  of  talking  and 
ran  off  to  play.  She  did  not  detain  him — why,  she  did  not 
know — probably,  because  to  detain  him  would  have  been  to 
encourage  a  fear  that  must  be  defied  if  the  coming  battle 
for  Winchie  and  reputation  and  life  was  not  to  be  lost 
before  it  began.  She  must  not  seem  to  be  afraid.  That 
would  be  fatal.  And  the  sure  way  to  seem  unafraid  was  to 
be  unafraid. 

She  paced  the  floor.  She  watched  the  distant  boat  with 
its  single  occupant.  She  sat  and  tried  to  finish  her  letter. 
She  roamed  through  the  house.  "  I'll  meet  him  in  the 
grounds,"  decided  she — and,  compelling  herself  to  walk 
slowly,  she  paced  the  road  between  gates  and  house — up 
and  down,  up  and  down.  Back  to  the  house  again,  to  her 
room.  "  Yes,  we'll  not  wait  supper,"  she  said,  in  answer 
to  Lizzie's  inquiry.  At  supper,  the  sound  of  Helen's  and 
Winchie's  voices  rasped  on  her  nerves.  "  Will  he  never 
come?  "  she  muttered.  And  without  explanation,  she  left 
the  table,  went  again  to  her  sitting  room. 

"  Are  you  ill,  dear  ?  "  asked  Helen,  putting  her  head 
in  at  the  door. 

"  No,"  replied  she,  curtly. 

Helen  went,  but  Winchie  came.  "  You  must  hear  my 
prayer,  mamma." 

"  Helen  taught  it  to  you.     Let  her  hear  it." 
383 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 


"  No.  She's  busy  downstairs,  and  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  go 
to  sleep." 

"  Then — just  say  it  by  yourself." 

"  It  seems  foolish  to  say  it,  with  nobody  to  listen." 

"  Very  well." 

She  sat  on  the  floor  beside  his  bed.  He  knelt  before 
her,  eyes  closed,  hands  folded  as  Helen  had  taught  him. 
She  was  listening — listening — listening.  "If  he  came 
now — "  thought  she — one  of  those  sardonic  fancies  that  leer 
even  from  a  coffin.  She  stayed  on  with  the  boy,  getting 
him  to  tell  her  stories,  she  the  while  listening,  listening  for 
sounds  on  the  drive,  on  the  stairs — and  hearing  only  the 
sound  of  the  seconds  splashing  one  by  one  into  eternity. 
Winchie  fell  asleep.  She  kissed  him,  fled  from  his 
room  with  a  choke  in  her  throat.  She  composed  her- 
self, descended  to  the  kitchen.  Lizzie  and  Mazie  were 
there,  and  as  she  opened  one  door  Jimmie  entered  by  the 
other. 

She  became  suddenly  weak,  but  contrived  to  say  to  him, 
"  Didn't  you  bring  Mr.  Vaughan  back  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am — an  hour  ago — most.  He  got  down  at 
the  gate  and  went  to  the  Smoke  House.  He  wanted  to  see 
Mr.  Gallatin — said  for  me  to  send  him  if  he  was  up  here. 
But  Mr.  Gallatin's  went  out  in  a  boat  and  ain't  in  yet. 
Guess  he's  spending  the  evening  over  to  Wenona."  . 

She  closed  the  door,  leaned  weak  and  sick  against  the 
wall  of  the  passageway.  Richard  knew!  Back  to  her 
room.  She  walked,  she  sat,  she  lay  down.  She  watched 
the  clock.  The  moments  were  aging  her  like  years.  Each 
second  was  dropping  into  eternity  with  a  boom  that  echoed 
in  her  shuddering  heart.  She  looked  at  herself  in  the 
mirror.  Skin  ashen;  lines  round  her  mouth — the  gaunt- 
ness  of  age  peering  ghastlily  through  'her  youth  like  a 

384 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

skeleton  with  a  fresh  young  mask  over  its  face  bones.  A 
black  band  all  round  each  eye,  the  eyes  blazing  out  fever- 
ishly. "  He  must  not  see  me  like  this/'  she  cried.  She 
-went  down  to  the  dining  room,  trembling  and  listening  at 
every  step,  like  a  thief.  She  drank  a  glass  of  brandy  at 
the  sideboard,  fled  to  her  rooms  again.  She  took  the  pitcher 
of  ice  water  into  the  bath  room,  emptied  it  into  the  bowl 
of  the  stationary  stand,  bathed  her  face.  She  pressed  a 
lump  of  ice  against  her  blue-black  burning  lids.  "  Why 
don't  I  wake  ?  "  she  said,  for  throughout  she  had  the  sense 
of  unreality  that  attends  but  does  not  lessen  an  impending 
horror. 

Twelve  o'clock —  "  I'll  go  to  bed.  I'll  take  Winchie 
into  bed  with  me.  Not  because  I'm  afraid  but  because  I'm 
lonely."  She  felt  a  great  longing  to  live.  She  felt  young 
and  strong,  and  the  look  and  the  odor  of  life  were  delicious. 
If  only  this  crisis  could  be  passed!  No  matter  how — no 
matter  how !  "  I've  the  right  to  live !  "  She  lifted  Winchie 
gently  from  his  bed,  carried  him  to  hers.  The  warmth  of 
his  vivid  young  body  stole  sweet  and  sad  through  her  thin 
nightgown,  through  her  flesh  into  her  heart.  He  half 
awakened,  half  put  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her,  murmured 
"  Mamma  " — was  asleep  again.  She  sobbed  a  little  in  self- 
pity,  dried  her  tears  for  shame,  lay  down  beside  her  boy, 
nestled  one  hand  under  his  body. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  better.  Then  up  she  rose,  bore 
him  back  to  his  own  bed,  returned.  But  as  she  was  clos- 
ing the  door,  she  hesitated — "  It's  not  hiding  behind  him. 
If  I  have  him  with  me,  it  may  save  him  from  disgrace." 
She  was  about  to  open  the  door,  when  she  turned  away 
abruptly.  "  No !  If  I  did  that,  I'd  deserve  to  die.  Why 
should  I  hide  behind  Winchie?  Why  should  I  hide,  at  all? 
I  may  have  done  wrong,  but  I  wronged  myself,  not  Rich- 

385 


ard.  I  may  have  done  wrong.  But  I  had  the  right  to  do 
wrong."  She  put  out  the  light,  lay  down  again,  somewhat 
calmer.  Suddenly  she  sat  bolt  upright  in  the  darkness. 
She  had  forgotten  all  about  Basil!  Had  he  rowed  back, 
had  he  and  Richard  met 

The  hall  door  of  her  bedroom  opened  softly — she  had 
intentionally  left  it  unlocked.  She  sank  back  against  the 
pillows.  Her  heart  stooped  beating  as  she  listened.  No 
further  sound.  When  she  could  endure  no  longer,  she  said, 
"Who  is  it?" 

Dick's  voice,  saying,  "  Oh,  you  aren't  asleep." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"About  half  past  one."  It  was  Richard's  voice,  yet 
not  his. 

A  long  silence.  She  could  hear  her  heart  beating — the 
ticking  of  the  little  clock  on  the  night  stand — the  murmur 
of  the  breeze  among  the  boughs — and  another  sound — she 
thought  it  must  be  the  beating  of  his  heart. 

Then  he:  "  May  I  turn  up  the  light — just  for  a  min- 
ute? " 

"  I'll  turn  it  up."  She  did  so,  and  as  she  lay  down 
again  saw  with  a  swift  furtive  glance  that  his  face 
was  haggard,  that  his  eyes  seemed  deep  sunk  in  black 
pits,  and  that  he  was  gazing  at  the  floor.  And  still 
she  had  the  sense  of  unreality,  of  the  dream  that  will 
pass. 

He  advanced  a  step  or  two.  She  felt  him  intently  look- 
ing at  her.  Again  that  breathless  silence.  Then  he  gave 
a  great  sigh,  bent  over  her,  gently  kissed  her  hair.  "  What 
glorious  hair  you  have,"  he  said.  "  And  what  a  pure,  inno- 
cent face.  It's  only  necessary  to  see  your  face,  to  know 
you  are  good." 

She  wondered  why  her  skin  was  not  burning,  why  her 
386 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

lips  did  not  open  and  her  voice  cry  out.  "  But  when 
this  is  past,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  no  more  lies — never 
again !  " 

"  Good  night,"  he  was  saying. 

"  Good  night,"  she  murmured,  the  sense  of  unreality,  of 
the  passing  dream,  stronger  than  ever. 

She  heard  him  cross  the  room,  heard  the  door  close  be- 
hind him.  She  leaped  from  her  bed  to  lock  it.  As  she 
was  halfway  across  the  room,  the  door  opened.  Mechan- 
ically she  snatched  from  the  sofa  a  dark  kimona,  drew  it 
round  her.  "  I  forgot  to  turn  out  your  light,"  he  said. 
"  Oh — it  was  the  night-stand  light,  wasn't  it?  "  Then  she 
had  the  sense  of  impending  disaster  and —  His  whole 
expression,  body  as  well  as  face,  changed.  His  eyes  seemed 
starting  from  his  head.  "  You — you  " — he  stammered — 
"  That  night  when  I  came  home  unexpectedly — "  He  flung 
out  his  arms,  dropped  heavily  to  the  chair  behind  him. 
"  It's  true !  "  he  gasped.  "  It's  true!  " 

The  kimona  that  had  helped  to  remind  him  and  to  be- 
tray her  had  dropped  from  her  listless  shoulders  to  the 
floor.  She  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  her  hands 
clasped  loosely  in  her  lap.  She  looked  calmly  at  him. 
She  now  felt  as  much  her  normal  self  as  she  had  up  to  the 
moment  when  Lizzie  brought  her  the  news  that  he  had 
gone  to  Nanny.  She  was  glad  the  crisis  had  come.  More 
— she  was  glad  he  knew  the  truth.  "  Now,"  she  said  to 
herself,  with  dizzy  elation,  "  I'll  either  die  or  begin  to  live. 
'  Nothing  is  settled,  till  it's  settled  right.'  My  life  will 
be  settled  right,  at  last." 

He  made  several  attempts  to  look  at  her,  could  not  lift 
his  eyes.  As  they  sat  there  she  seemed  innocence  and  he 
guilt.  "  Nanny  told  me,"  he  said,  as  if  feeling  round  for 
a  beginning.  Then,  after  a  long  wait,  "  She  said  she 

387 


couldn't  die  with  it  on  her  conscience.  I  thought  her  mind 
was  wandering — but — somehow — I  couldn't —  He  broke 
off.  Another  long  wait.  He  ended  it  with  the  question  she 
had  been  expecting:  "  Where's — he?  " 

"  Gone." 

Another  pause,  longer.  "  I'm  stunned — stunned."  He 
stared  at  the  floor,  his  head  between  his  hands,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees.  "  So — he  ran  away." 

"  I  sent  him." 

"  I  am  glad.  I  might  have — "  He  did  not  finish. 
"  I'm  stunned,"  he  muttered. 

She  clasped  her  hands  round  one  knee — a  favorite  atti- 
tude of  hers — and  waited.  It  was  a  time  for  her  to  be 
silent,  to  watch,  to  wait.  A  word,  any  word,  from  her 
might  cause  the  explosion. 

"  Why  did  you  send  him  away  ?  "  he  asked.  It  was 
as  if  he  were  talking  with  a  stranger  about  an  indifferent 
matter. 

"  Because  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  this.  It's  between 
you  and  me." 

Their  eyes  met.  "  Nothing  to  do  with  this  ?  "  he  re- 
peated, as  if  trying  to  understand. 

"  It's  between  you  and  me,"  she  repeated. 

His  eyes  turned  away,  as  if  he  were  reflecting  upon 
this.  Silence  again.  Then  he:  "I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  I  know  it's  so,  but  I  can't  believe  it.  It's  not  like  you 
— not  at  all."  He  looked  at  her.  She  met  his  gaze  stead- 
ily. His  eyes  shifted.  "  Not  at  all,"  he  repeated.  He 
was  still  talking  as  if  to  a  stranger.  She  understood  why ; 
it  would  have  been  impossible  for  any  force,  even  such  a 
discovery  as  this,  to  galvanize  into  a  living  personality, 
iwith  a  mind  to  think  and  to  will,  the  woman  who  had  for 
six  years  been  mere  incident  in  his  busy  life,  "  Not  at  all 

388 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

like  you/'  he  again  repeated.  "  Yet — why  did  I  feel  it  was 
true  as  soon  as  Nanny  told  me  ?  " 

She  remained  silent  and  motionless. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak?  "  he  demanded,  trying  to  rouse 
himself  to  reality.  "Why  don't  you  defend  yourself?" 

So  long  as  she  did  not  defend,  he  could  not  attack.  She 
did  not  answer. 

"  You  do  not  deny.     You  admit?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  He  is  safe,  so  long  as  he  keeps  away.  You  need  not 
be  afraid  to  confess  that  he  took  advantage  of  a  moment 
of  weakness."  It  was  an  offer  of  a  defense  he  would 
accept. 

She  refused  it  instantly.     "  That  is  not  true,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  he  insisted.  "  He  took  advantage  of  my 
absence " 

"  What  I  did,"  she  interrupted,  "  was  of  my  own  free 
will — was  what  I  felt  I  had  the  right  to  do." 

His  eyes  lifted  to  hers  in  amazement.  Again  they 
found  her  gaze  steady  and  direct.  "  Don't  you  realize 
what  you've  done  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  Such  an  expression  as 
hers  must  mean  either  innocence  or  a  shamelessness  beyond 
belief. 

"  Yes,  I  realize,"  she  answered  in  the  same  calm  color- 
less tone  in  which  she  had  spoken  all  her  few  words. 

"  How  like  a  child  you  are,"  said  he  gently — and  child- 
like she  certainly  looked,  sitting  there  all  in  white,  so  small 
and  lovely  and  sweet,  with  her  heavy  braids  twisted  round 
her  little  head,  giving  her  appearance  a  touch  of  quaint- 
ness,  of  precocious  gravity.  "  A  mere  child.  You  don't 
even  understand  what  you're  accused  of.  It  simply  can't 
be  true — it — '  He  started  up.  "  My  God — if  only  I 
hadn't  seen  that  room  that  night !  "  And  she  knew  he  was 

389 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

seeing  what  she  was  seeing — Basil's  disheveled  room — and 
she  in  it,  like  it.  "  Courtney !  Courtney !  How  could  you 
— how  could  you !  "  And  down  he  sank  with  face  buried 
in  his  hands  and  shoulders  heaving. 

She  hung  her  head  in  shame.  In  vain  she  reminded 
herself  how  he  had  refused  to  treat  her  as  a  human  being, 
how  he  had  spurned  all  her  appeals,  how  he  had  refused 
to  let  her  live  either  with  him  or  without  him — would  give 
her  neither  marriage  nor  divorce.  All  in  vain.  Before  his 
grief  she  could  feel  only  her  own  deceit.  It  might  be  true 
that  he  had  not  allowed  her  to  be  honest;  it  was  also  true 
that  she  had  not  been  honest. 

When  she  looked  at  him  again,  she  was  fascinated  by 
the  expression  of  his  long  aristocratic  profile — stern,  in- 
scrutable. "  I  realize,"  he  presently  said,  "  that  I  don't 
know  or  understand  you  at  all.  But  of  one  thing  I'm  cer- 
tain— that  you  are  not  a  bad  woman.  I've  been  recalling 
you  from  the  beginning — from  our  childhood  even.  You 
never  were  bad.  I  can  remember  only  sweet  and  beauti- 
ful tilings  about  you." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  arm.  "  Don't !  "  she 
murmured. 

"  I  wasn't  saying  that  to  make  you  ashamed,"  he 
hastened  to  explain.  "  I  can't  help  feeling  that  somehow 
or  other  I  am  more  to  blame  than  you.  But  that's  aside. 
The  main  thing  is,  we  must  both  do  the  best  we  can  to 
straighten  things  out.  Isn't  it  so  ?  " 

To  straighten  things  out!  Not  to  rave  and  curse  and 
kill — not  scandal  on  scandal,  disgrace  on  disgrace — but — 
"  to  straighten  things  out."  She  pressed  both  hands  to  her 
face,  flung  herself  upon  the  pillow  and  sobbed  into  it — an 
outburst  like  a  long-pent  volcano  relieving  itself  of  the 
fiery  monsters  that  have  been  tormenting  its  vitals. 

390 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  We'll  not  talk  of  it,"  he  went  on,  as  the  storm  was 
subsiding,  "  until  we're  both  of  us  calmer." 

A  long  pause,  the  silence  broken  by  the  sound  of  her 
sobs  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  suppress.  Then  she  heard 
his  voice  gently  saying  "  Good  night."  And  she  was  alone, 
dazed  and  shamed  before  this  incredible  anticlimax  to  her 
forebodings. 


XXV 

AT  nine  the  next  morning  she  appeared  at  the  labora- 
tory as  usual.  As  she  was  passing  through  Dick's  room, 
he  glanced  up.  Their  eyes  did  not  meet.  "  Good  morn- 
ing," she  said  without  pausing.  She  was  in  the  rear  room 
and  out  of  view  when  his  cold  answering  "  Good  morning  " 
came.  She  went  about  her  work,  and  several  times  she 
carried  in  to  him  the  things  she  finished.  He  was  absorbed, 
seemed  as  unconscious  of  his  surroundings  as  had  been  his 
wont.  It  was  the  rule  there  never  to  interrupt;  she  did 
not  break  the  rule.  Toward  noon  the  quiet  was  disturbed 
by  the  telephone  buzzer.  She  answered.  In  Lizzie's  voice 
came,  "  The  grocery  over  to  Wenona  wants  to  speak  to 
you."  She  knew  at  once  that  it  was  Basil.  "  Ask  them 
to  call  up  again  about  four,"  replied  she  and  went  back  to 
her  table.  At  noon  she  stopped  work  and  left  for  the 
house.  At  the  usual  time  Richard  appeared,  had  dinner 
with  them  all,  sat  calm  and  silent  and  aloof,  acting  much 
as  he  always  did. 

In  the  warm  part  of  the  year,  with  the  gardens  to  look 
after,  it  was  her  habit  to  spend  only  the  mornings  at  the 
laboratory.  She  sent  Helen  to  the  Donaldsons  with  Winchie 
about  three.  When  the  telephone  bell  rang  she  herself 
answered.  First  came  the  voice  of  some  clerk,  then  Basil's 
• — "  Is  that  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  she. 

"  I'm  at  Fenton." 

"  Go  to  New  York." 

"  Are  you — well  ?  " 

392 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Never  better.  Some  one  may  be  listening  along  the 
wire." 

"  I  understand.     You  are  sure  all's  well  ?  " 

"  Sure.     Wait  in  New  York." 

"  I  understand.     Good-by." 

"  Good-by." 

As  she  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  round,  she 
startled  guiltily.  There  was  Richard,  just  stepping  from 
lawn  to  veranda,  his  eyes  upon  her.  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  caught  violating  in  stealth  an  implied  compact 
not  to  communicate  with  Basil.  Dick's  expression  told  her 
that  he  was  reading  in  her  eyes  with  whom  she  had  been 
talking.  When  they  were  face  to  face,  he  on  the  veranda, 
she  one  step  up  in  the  doorway,  she  said:  "  He  wanted  to 
reassure  himself  before  starting  East." 

Dick's  lips  curled  slightly. 

"  It  isn't  fair  for  me  to  let  you  think  him  a  coward. 
I  made  him  see  so  clearly  that " 

"  You  were  right,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  wish  to  hear 
no  more  about  it." 

Her  eyes  flashed  at  his  peremptory  tone,  reminiscent 
of  his  habit  of  brushing  her  aside  as  merely  woman.  But 
the  thought  of  Winchie  was  a  talisman  against  any  attack 
of  temper. 

"  You  said  last  night,"  he  went  on,  "  that  this  is  be- 
tween you  and  me  only.  You  were  right.  So — I've  wiped 
him  off  the  slate." 

As  they  crossed  the  lawn  toward  the  water's  edge,  she 
felt  a  fear  of  him  deeper  than  any  that  physical  force 
could  inspire.  If  he  had  threatened — had  reviled — had 
done  her  physical  violence,  she  would  have  met  him  with 
contempt,  with  a  sense  of  her  own  superiority.  But  how 
deal  with  this  intelligence?  She  had  always  known  it  was 

393 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

an  intelligence;  she  was  realizing  that  it  was  an  intelli- 
gence she  did  not  understand,  was  therefore  superior  to 
her  own.  When  they  reached  the  benches  near  the  land- 
ing and  sat,  she  was  so  weak  that  she  could  not  have 
walked  many  steps  farther. 

"  I  think/'  he  began,  a  quiet  sarcasm  in  his  tone  that 
did  not  lessen  her  uneasiness,  "  you  rather  misunderstood 
me  last  night.  In  such  circumstances,  I  believe,  a  man  is 
expected  to  tear  his  hair  and  paw  the  ground  and  do  vio- 
lent things.  I  confess — "  He  hesitated  an  instant  before 
going  on — "  I've  had  that  inclination  several  times  since 
I  recovered  from  my  stupor.  Tradition  and  instinct  and — 
vanity — are  strong.  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  be  a  little 
careful  what  you  say  to  me — not  for  your  own  sake  but  for 
mine.  I  have  some  emotional  dynamite  in  my  nature.  I 
don't  wish  it  to  be  set  off.  To  mention  only  one  thing, 
there's  Winchie  to  be  thought  of.  I  have  no  desire  to 
punish  you.  I  feel  too  human  myself,  to  play  the  part  of 
judge  or  executioner.  But,  most  of  all,  I'm  determined  that 
Winchie  shall  never  know — which  means  that  the  world 
must  never  know." 

Her  clenched  hands  relaxed  as  she  drew  the  first  free 
breath  since  Lizzie  told  her  where  he  had  gone.  Now,  she 
felt  she  could  face  him  for  the  struggle  for  Winchie  on  less 
unequal  terms — not  on  equal  terms,  for  he  had  the  power 
to  take  Winchie  away  from  her — had  the  power  and — 
How  could  she  prevent  his  using  it? 

"  But  when  you  came  into  the  laboratory  this  morning 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,"  he  proceeded,  "  you  showed 
that  you  misunderstood  me."  He  looked  away  reflectively. 
"  I  don't  know  just  how  I  restrained  myself." 

"  You  were  mistaken,"  said  she.  "  I  went  because  it's 
been  my  habit  to  go.  I  went  just  as  you  did." 

394 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

He  fixed  his  gaze  upon  her,  danger  in  it.  "  You  count 
too  much  on  your  success  in  deceiving  me  thus  far,"  he 
said.  "  I  must  ask  you  not  to  do  so — not  to  try  to  deceive 
me.  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  now  why  you've  been 
coming  to  the  laboratory  ?  " 

His  menacing  gaze  did  not  daunt  her.  She  met  it 
fearlessly.  "  That  was  the  reason  for  a  while — at  first. 
But  for  a  long  time  I've  been  going  because  I  liked  the 
work." 

He  studied  her  with  those  eyes  that  saw  into  every- 
thing, once  they  were  focused  properly.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don," he  said  with  formal  courtesy.  "  It's  true  you  couldn't 
have  worked  so  well  if  you  hadn't  liked  the  work." 

"  I've  loved  it."  And  her  tone  put  her  sincerity  beyond 
question. 

He  glanced  away.  After  a  pause  he  said,  "  To  go  to 
the  point — the  future.  I  thought  at  first  that  I'd  decide 
alone  what  should  be  done.  Then  it  seemed  to  me  I  hadn't 
the  right  to  act — about  Winchie — without  at  least  finding 
out  what  your  ideas  were." 

He  waited  long;  she  did  not  speak. 

"  You  feel,  I  suppose,"  he  said  gently,  "  that  you've 
forfeited  the  right  to  speak." 

She  did  not  venture  to  contradict  him.  Anything  she 
would  say,  however  guarded,  might  anger  him — and  Win- 
chie was  at  stake. 

"  As  I  told  you  last  night,  I  know  you  are  somehow 
not  a  bad  woman.  Until  yesterday,  I'd  have  said  there 
were  just  two  classes  of  women — the  good  and  the  bad. 
But  I'd  also  have  said  that  I'd  have  killed  both  you  and 
him.  I  find  I've  got  to  revise  many  ideas  I  had.  Just 
how,  I  don't  know.  I'm  realizing  in  regard  to  my  grand- 
father what  I've  long  realized  about  everything  else — 

395 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

that  nothing  from  the  past  is  trustworthy.  The  wis- 
dom of  yesterday  is  the  folly  of  to-day."  He  roused 
himself  from  his  half  abstraction,  said,  "  So — you 
need  not  be  afraid  to  speak  out  whatever  is  in  your 
mind." 

On  impulse  of  response  to  this  breadth — an  impulse  that 
was  yet,  perhaps,  not  without  quick  feminine  wit  to  see 
and  seize  advantage — she  said,  "  You  make  me  feel  that  I 
can  trust  to  your  sense  of  justice." 

He  smiled  satirically.  "  I  see  you  still  don't  under- 
stand. You  fancy  I'm  more  than  human  because  I  don't 
act  as  if  I  were  less  than  human.  I  know  you  are  a  woman, 
but  women  have  been  given  mind  enough  to  distinguish 
between  right  and  wrong,  between  honor  and  dishonor. 
And —  Is  it  necessary  that  I  give  its  plain  name  to  what 
you've  done — to  what  you  are  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  suffocating  voice.  Only  her  boy 
was  saving  her  from  bursting  out. 

"  Then — don't  try  to  cajole  me  with  talk  about  my 
sense  of  justice.  What  do  you  ask?  " 

All  in  an  instant — whether  because  her  natural  bent  was 
for  the  frank  and  courageous  or  because  instinct  told  her 
it  was  the  only  hopeful  course  with  him — she  resolved  to 
act  as  she  felt,  to  speak  her  thoughts.  "  What  do  I  ask  ?  " 
-she  repeated.  "  First,  that  you  stop  posing." 

He  flushed. 

"If  you  really  mean,"  she  hastened  on,  "  that  you're 
acting  as  you  have  thus  far  because  it's  the  right  way  to 
act,  because  the  way  men  usually  act  is  wrong  and  de- 
grades them,  why,  you'll  stop  trying  to  convince  me  that 
you're  giving  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  gracious  gener- 
osity." 

"  I  had  no  such  intention." 
396 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


"  Then  why  do  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  an  object  of 
charity?  " 

"  You  can  hardly  expect  me  to  treat  you  as  if  you  had 
done  something  noble." 

"  You  say  I'm  not  a  bad  woman." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  "  No,  you  are 
not,"  he  said.  "  You  have  acted  like  a  bad  woman,  but  you 
are  not  a  bad  woman." 

"  Then,"  she  went  on  slowly,  never  taking  her  grave, 
earnest  eyes  from  his,  "  I  want  you  to  ask  yourself  how 
it  happens  that  the  girl  who,  you  said  last  night,  was  good, 
the  girl  who  loved  you  when  she  married  you,  has  become 
the  woman  you  are  condemning?  " 

A  long  silence.  He  looked  away,  looked  again — and  his 
gaze  remained  fixed  upon  her  face.  Then,  in  a  low,  hesi- 
tating voice :  "  Well — how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Because  you  did  not  love  me." 

"  You  know  better  than  that,"  he  cried.  "  I've  never 
given  any  woman  but  you  a  thought.  I've  never — "  He 
broke  off  abruptly,  grew  angry.  "  But  you're  simply 
trying  to  improve  your  position  by  putting  me  on 
the  defensive.  And  I  ask  you  again  not  to  goad 
me ' 

"  Because  you  did  not  love  me,"  she  repeated.  "  Your 
anger  shows  that  you  are  trying  to  deny  the  truth  to 
yourself.  You  married  me  on  an  impulse  of  passion.  Oh, 
you  had  the  usual  romantic  deceptive  names  for  it — the 
words  that  make  the  man  feel  spiritual  and  tickle  the  girl's 
vanity.  But  you've  shown  what  it  really  was  by  giving 
me  only  an  incidental — carnal  thought  now  and  then. 
That's  been  our  married  life." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  had  these  false,  unjust 
ideas  ?  " 

26  397 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"But  they're  not  false,  not  unjust/'  she  rejoined. 
"  What  do  you  know  of  me  except  my  outside  ?  What's 
my  mind  like?  What's  my  heart  like?  What  do  I,  a 
human  being  like  yourself,  think  and  feel?  You  don't 
know.  You've  lived  on  your  grandfather's  pompous  cld- 
fashioned  ideal — that  lust  is  love,  if  the  preacher  has  chris- 
tened it — that  a  woman's  whole  life  is  the  good  pleasure  of 
her  husband's  various  appetites." 

She  paused  for  breath.  She  was  not  so  carried  away 
by  the  tempest  of  her  emotions  that  she  did  not  note  that 
he  was  listening  and  thinking.  He  presently  said :  "  Even, 
so,  how  does  that  excuse  you? — you,  the  mother  of 
Winchie." 

She  paled,  and  her  hands  clasped  convulsively  in  her 
lap.  But  she  went  boldly  on.  "  I  had  a  heart  and  a  mind, 
like  you.  How  could  a  human  being  live  the  life  you 
assigned  me?  When  I  pleaded  for  a  share  in  your  life 
you  refused.  When  I  begged  for  freedom  you  refused. 
What  I  did  was  my  compromise  between  the  woman  and 
the  mother.  A  mother  isn't  less  a  woman,  Richard,  but 
more." 

He  rose  in  his  excitement;  for,  his  keen  mind  pene- 
trated to  her  purpose.  "  You  want  your  freedom  and  you 
want  my  son !  "  he  cried. 

Her  gaze  was  steady  but  her  deep  voice  trembled  as 
she  answered,  "  I  want  my  freedom  and  I  want  my  child 
— the  child  I  brought  into  the  world — the  child  I've  watched 
over  from  birth.  Be  fair — be  just,  Richard.  What  have 
you  done  for  him  except  provide  the  home  the  law  would 
have  compelled  ?  You've  amused  yourself  playing  with  him 
a  few  minutes  now  and  then.  You've  asked  me  to  buy  him 
a  present  now  and  then.  And  never  even  inquired  whether 
I'd  done  it.  Do  you  know  his  birthday?  Do  you  know  how 

398 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

old  he  is?  Do  you  know  anything  about  him?  Why  then 
do  you  call  him  your  son  ?  " 

He  had  been  in  such  struggle  with  his  fury  that  he  was 
unable  to  check  her  torrent  of  half-defiant  half-piteous 
appeal.  He  now  mastered  himself  sufficiently  to  say, 
"  How  dare  you  talk  to  me  like  this  ?  " 

"  Because/'  replied  she,  quick  as  a  flash,  "  I  respect 
your  intelligence,  even  if  you  don't  respect  mine.  You 
asked  me  to  speak  freely.  I've  done  it.  Would  you  have 
preferred  me  to  lie  to  you?  " 

He  walked  away  from  her  to  the  edge  of  the  lake,  im- 
mediately returned  and  sat  again  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bench.  He  eyed  her  passive  figure — hands  quiet  in  her  lap, 
gaze  upon  the  town  across  the  lake.  Her  face  was  quiet, 
but  all  the  intelligence  and  character  which  her  gayety  and 
small  stature  and  young  loveliness  veiled  from  unobservant 
eyes  were  clearly  revealed  now.  "  It's  a  succession  of  blows, 
these  discoveries  that  you  are  so  different  from  what  I  im- 
agined," said  he.  With  bitter  reproach,  "  When  I  think 
how  I  exalted,  how  I  idealized  you !  " 

"  Did  I  ask  you  to  do  it?  Did  I  tempt  you  by  hypoc- 
risy? .  .  .  Whenever  I'd  try  to  show  you  what  I  was, 
didn't  you  stop  me  or  refuse  to  listen  ?  And — is  it  true  that 
you  idealized  me?  Is  woman  as  mere  female — mere  flesh 
an  ideal?  " 

"  I  have  told  you " 

"  But,"  she  interrupted  appealingly,  suddenly  all  ani- 
mation, "  you  spoke  without  thinking.  Think  of  me  as 
you'd  think  of  one  of  your  problems  of  chemistry.  Don't 
let  your  grandfather  do  your  thinking — or  the  hypocritical 
world — or  the  shallow  people  round  us." 

He  was  silent.  Presently  he  rose  to  pace  the  retaining 
wall.  As  she  watched  him  there  was  no  outward  sign  of 

399 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 


the  dread  that  was  licking  at  her  heart  like  a  flame  at  living 
flesh.  "  And  what  of  me  ?  "  he  said,  wheeling  abruptly 
upon  her.  "  You  say  it  was  my  fault  that  you  did  what 
you've  done.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  think  you're  not 
to  blame  at  all?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that/'  she  answered.  "  If  I'd  been 
brought  up  brave  and  independent,  instead  of  to  be  a  cow- 
ardly dependent —  Oh,  the  crime  of  it !  To  take  a  being 
with  a  mind  and  a  heart  and,  simply  because  it's  female 
instead  of  male,  to  bring  it  up  so  that  it's  unfit  really  to 
live — to  forbid  it  to  live — to  make  it  afraid  to  live !  If  I'd 
been  brave  I'd  have  spoken  out  frankly.  I'd  have  demanded 
my  freedom — I'd  have  taken  it.  As  it  was — I  broke  my 
marriage  promises — as  you  broke  yours.  It  was  chiefly 
your  fault."  And  she  went  on,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
accusing  eyes :  "  I  don't  say  it  because  I  wish  to  shirk,  but 
because  I  must  tell  the  whole  truth  so  that  you  won't  do  a 
cruel  injustice.  You  promised  me  love  and  care  and  you 
gave  me  lust  and  neglect.  We  were  joined  in  equal  mar- 
riage. You  treated  me  much  as  if  I  were  a  slave  you'd 
bought.  And  I  had  to  submit.  For,  I  really  was  a  kind 
of  slave,  and  I  hadn't  the  courage  and  the  skill  to  go  out 
and  make  my  own  living — and  anyhow,  you  could  and  would 
have  taken  Winchie  away  from  me,  if  I'd  tried  to  do  it. 
Isn't  that  so?" 

She  saw  that  he  was  impressed.  Again  he  reflected  a 
long  time  pacing  up  and  down  the  wall.  When  he  turned 
toward  her  once  more  he  said:  "  But  listen  while  I  state 
plainly  what  you  ask.  You  ask  me  to  reward  your  treach- 
ery by  letting  you  marry  the  man  who  betrayed  me — and 
you  cap  it  by  asking  me  to  let  you  make  my  son  his !  " 

'  No,  Richard,"  she  protested.  "  I  simply  ask  you  to 
let  me  keep  my  child  on  any  condition  you  make.  I'll 

400 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

promise  not  to  see — him.  I'll  take  Winchie  and  live  on  the 
farm  with  my  people  until  he's  old  enough  to  go  away  to 
school.  I  know  the  law  puts  me  at  your  mercy.  But  I 
don't  believe  you'll  use  your  power  to  crush  me."  She  was 
choking,  was  fighting  back  the  tears. 

He  turned  to  the  retaining  wall,  gazed  into  the  water 
until  she  should  fight  down  the  evidences  of  weakness  which 
he  could  not  but  see  she  was  ashamed  of.  When  he  joined 
her  again,  it  was  to  say  in  a  voice  that  reassured  her:  "  I 
want  to  do  what's  best  for  us  all — especially  for  Winchie. 
It's  very  difficult.  .  .  .  When  I  think  of  the  misery  I  might 
have  caused,  if  I  had  believed  Nanny  and  hadn't  had  time 
to  reflect —  I  must  not  act  until  I've  seen  every  side — 
Winchie's — yours — mine " 

The  sound  of  the  supper  gong  came  floating  across  the 
lawn.  Courtney  rose  mechanically  and  in  silence  they  re- 
turned to  the  house.  Helen  and  Winchie  had  enjoyed  them- 
selves at  the  Donaldsons,  and  told  all  about  it.  The 
strain  between  Dick  and  Courtney  passed  unnoticed.  When 
Winchie  went  up,  Courtney  accompanied  him.  Toward  ten 
she  left  the  book  she  had  been  pretending  to  read  and  sat 
in  the  hammock  on  the  balcony.  The  moon,  huge  and  ruddy 
through  an  opening  among  the  boughs,  poured  its  flood  of 
elfin  light  over  lake  and  lawns  and  gardens.  The  soft 
shadows,  the  vague  vistas,  the  overpowering  perfume  of 
honeysuckle  and  jasmine  and  rose  combined  to  beguile  her 
out  of  all  sense  of  reality.  "  I've  been  dreaming — dream- 
ing," she  murmured.  And  what  an  incredible  dream!  No 
man — least  of  all  Richard,  the  prejudiced,  the  domineering 
— would  have  acted  so  in  real  life.  "  A  dream — a  dream." 
It  was  impossible,  this  experience  of  hers  that  belied  all 
she  had  read,  all  she  had  been  taught,  about  the  relations 
of  men  and  women.  She,  a  married  woman,  had  taken  a 

401 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

j  -* 

lover — and,  instead  of  its  degrading  her,  it  had  made  hex 
better  than  she  had  been  when  she  thrust  love  out  of  her 
life  and  tried  to  live  by  rule  of  duty  to  husband.  And  now 
— instead  of  her  husband's  killing  her  or  of  her  killing  her- 
self or  of  any  of  the  various  kinds  of  violence  prescribed 
for  such  situations,  her  husband  had  acted  like  a  civilized 
human  being,  gently,  considerately,  at  the  dictates  of  hu- 
manity and  not  at  the  dictates  of  vanity.  And  instead  of 
abysm  below  abysm  of  disaster  and  death  in  punishment  for 
religion's  scarlet  sin  of  sins  for  woman,  there  was  prospect 
of  a  life  in  which  she  could  profit  by  the  experience  she 
had  gained.  "  A  dream — a  dream."  Or,  was  a  new  world 
dawning  ? — a  new  way  of  living  that  made  the  old  way  seem 
a  grotesque  carnival  of  the  beast  in  man? 

As  she  was  dressing  next  morning,  in  came  Winchie. 
"  Has  papa  gone  away  ?  "  he  asked  at  the  threshold. 

She  paused  with  the  eye  of  her  belt  at  the  prong  of  its 
buckle.  "  Why  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  dreamed  it.  I  thought  it  was 
so.  I  thought  I  waked  up  and  there  was  papa  kissing  me. 
And  I  thought  it  made  me  sad.  And  he  said,  '  Good-by, 
Winchie.  Take  care  of  your  mother  and  do  what  she  says, 
and  don't  forget  me.'  And  I  kissed  him  and  said,  '  Can't 
Mamma  Courtney  and  I  go  too  ?  '  And  he  said,  '  No,  dear/ 
And  I  said,  '  All  right.  Bring  me  a  gun,  like  Charlie  Don- 
aldson's.' And  then  I  fell  asleep  again." 

In  the  mirror  she  saw  him  run  to  the  door  into  the  hall, 
pick  up  a  letter  which  had  evidently  been  thrust  through 
the  crack.  She  turned  and  held  out  her  hand.  He  brought 
it  to  her,  spelling  out  the  "  Courtney  "  written  on  it  as  he 
came.  "  Go  take  Aunt  Helen  down  to  breakfast,"  she  said. 
When  he  was  gone,  she  opened  the  envelope  and  read : 

402 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

**  The  important  point  is  Winchie.  I  am  going  away  to  try 
to  think  it  out.  However,  one  thing  is  certain.  There  must  be 
a  divorce.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  send  you  a  formal  notice  of 
abandonment,  and  you  will  begin  an  action  at  once.  Until  we 
are  free — perhaps  so  long  as  you  are  alone — it  is  best  that 
Winchie  stay  with  you.  I  leave  him  on  one  condition — that 
you  keep  him  here,  carrying  on  everything  exactly  as  usual. 
He  must  see  no  sign  of  change. 

"  Please  let  me  know  whether  you  accept.  A  line,  in  care  of 
my  lawyers,  James  &  Vandegrift,  will  reach  me. 

"R.  V." 

"  So  long  as  you  are  alone."  Courtney  felt  as  if  the 
air  had  suddenly  changed  from  the  leaden  oppressiveness 
of  before  the  storm  to  the  buoyant  freshness  afterwards. 
With  the  paralyzing  dread  about  Winchie  removed,  she 
could  think  of  the  rest  of  the  situation.  She  read  the  letter 
again  and  again.  The  regularity  of  line  and  word,  the  pre- 
cision of  phrasing  indicated  a  carefully  copied  final  draft. 
There  was  not  the  faintest  clue  to  the  feelings  of  the 
•writer.  She  recalled  those  last  two  talks  with  him.  At 
both  she  was  in  no  condition  to  observe  him,  so  absorbed 
was  she  in  the  things  immediately  at  issue.  But  now,  as 
she  went  over  his  words,  looks,  manner,  she  saw  a  person- 
ality wholly  different  from  the  Richard  Vaughan  she  had 
known — or  had  fancied  she  knew.  That  Richard  Vaughan 
really  had  no  personality  beyond  a  chemical  intelligence, 
was  an  abstraction  like  an  algebraic  formula.  This  Richard 
Vaughan  was  a  flesh-and-blood  man;  but — what  sort  of  a 
man  ?  And  his  conduct  toward  her,  did  it  not  mean  that  he 
had  eliminated  her  as  one  empties  out  a  test  tube  when  the 
experiment  ends — in  failure?  Did  it  not  mean  supreme 
indifference?  Yes — it  must  be  so.  Still,  no  ordinary  man, 

403 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

however  indifferent  to  wife  and  child,  could  act  in  such 
circumstances  so  absolutely  without  personal  vanity,  with 
such  obvious  determination  to  do  nothing  small  or  revenge- 
ful. On  any  theory,  there  must  be  behind  those  curiously 
unemotional  lines  a  character  big,  generous,  incapable  of 
meanness. 

She  looked  at  this  newly  revealed  large  personality,  with 
a  depressing  sense  of  her  own  contrasting  smallness.  In 
the  last  few  years  of  widening  intelligence  her  sex  vanity, 
so  diligently  fostered  throughout  her  childhood  and  girl- 
hood, had  received  many  a  rude  shock  from  within  as  well 
as  from  without.  But  none  so  rude,  so  demolishing  as  this. 
"  He's  a  man  really  worth  while,"  thought  she.  "  And 
women  are  too  insignificant  either  to  be  loved  by  such  a 
man  or  to  love  him." 

She  had  been  bred  in  and  to  the  American  feminine 
ideal — the  woman  graciously  deigning  to  permit  some  man 
to  support  her  in  idleness;  the  man  more  than  repaid  by 
the  honor  of  being  allowed  to  support  her;  whatever  fur- 
ther he  might  get,  a  voluntary  largess  from  his  royal  guest, 
to  be  given  or  withdrawn  at  her  good  pleasure.  This  delu- 
sion was  a  distorted  tradition  from  a  bygone  era — an  era 
of  conditions  around  the  relations  of  the  sexes  that  are  for- 
ever past.  In  that  "  woman's  paradise  "  women  were  scarce 
and  men  plenty ;  and  there  was  the  constancy  that  is  natural 
in  a  narrow  life  of  severe  toil,  with  the  intelligence  too 
little  developed  to  be  restless  or  critical,  with  the  passions 
undisputedly  in  the  ascendant.  This  feminine  tradition  had 
been  dying  hard,  as  delusions  flattering  to  vanity,  encour- 
aging to  laziness,  ever  do.  She  had  tried  to  keep  on  be- 
lieving the  lies  she  heard  and  read  everywhere — especially 
novelists  and  preachers  dependent  on  unthinking  women  for 
a  living — the  romantic  exaltation  of  woman's  love  as  of 

404 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

value  star  spaces  beyond  the  value  of  man's  love.  She  had 
tried  to  suppress  her  sense  of  humor  and  to  be  impressed 
when  she  heard  women  speak  of  kissing  a  man  in  reward 
for  some  service  as  if  one  of  their  kisses  made  an  arch- 
angel's diadem,  in  comparison,  a  cheap  bauble.  She  had 
tried  not  to  see  how  intelligent  men  scarcely  restrained  the 
grin  of  insincerity  as  they  poured  out  extravagances  to  some 
woman  whom  their  whimsical  passions  chanced  to  covet. 
She  had  struggled  against  the  disillusionizing  thoughts 
about  her  own  sex's  private  opinion  of  itself  that  would 
arise  as  she  noted  how  often  women  treated  lightly 
the  man  who  took  them  seriously  and  all  but  offered 
themselves  to  him  who  winked  as  he  bought  or  passed 
on  untempted  or  cynically  inquired  for  the  inside 
price. 

Step  by  step  she  had  been  thrust  out  into  the  truth  that 
the  whole  feminist  cult  was  a  colossal  fiction,  that  in  the 
actualities  of  the  life  of  this  new  era  woman's  value  was 
precisely  like  man's — the  usefulness  of  the  particular  com- 
bination of  mind  and  heart,  intellect  and  character,  that 
made  up  the  personality.  She  began  to  suspect  that  wom- 
an's ability  to  sway  man  through  his  passion  was  more  often 
a  handicap  to  her,  and  to  him,  than  a  help  to  either.  She 
began  to  realize  that  learning  how  to  use  that  ability  wisely 
was  the  supreme  hard  problem  the  life  of  to-day  set  for 
woman  to  solve  or  perish.  While  passion  sometimes  had 
made  one  man  for  a  moment  slave  to  some  one  woman,  or 
a  few  men  slaves  to  any  woman,  it  had  through  all  time 
made  womankind  slave  to  mankind.  And  in  the  new  era, 
while  the  slave  was  still  willing,  the  master  was  becoming 
weary,  was  demanding  something  less  burdensome,  more 
companionable. 

As  she  stood  at  the  bureau,  buckle  still  unfastened,  eyes 
405 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

and  mind  upon  those  few  calm,  precisely  penned  lines  of 
Dick's,  there  came  a  thought  that  dealt  a  deathblow  to  her 
long  dying  feminine  folie  de  grandeur.  While  it  was  true 
she  had  not  sought  nor  wished  Dick's  interest  of  any  kind, 
the  fact  remained  that  he,  after  living  in  daily  contact  with 
her  for  six  years,  had  been  so  little  affected  by  her  per- 
sonality that  he  was  letting  her  go  without  any  sign  of  emo- 
tion. "  But  I  am  as  indifferent  to  him  as  he  to  me,"  she 
urged  upon  herself  in  hope  of  some  slight  consolation.  She 
instantly  remembered  that  it  was  he,  not  she,  who  had  be- 
gun the  indifference.  And  then  came  the  stinging,  blood- 
heating  recollection  that  he  had  used  at  his  pleasure  the 
only  part  of  her  that  had  been  able  to  impress  him  as  valu- 
able to  a  man  of  purpose  and  achievement.  Nor  could  she 
dismiss  him  with  a  contemptuous  "  low  minded  and  un- 
worthy," for  she  knew  he  was  neither.  Squirm  how  she 
would,  she  could  not  get  away  from  the  humiliating  fact 
— "  six  years  of  me,  and  not  even  enough  physical  value 
to  make  his  jealousy  for  a  single  moment  triumph  over 
his  sense  of  self-respect !  " 

Winchie  had  finished  breakfast  and  was  playing  with 
his  wagon  on  the  veranda.  Helen  was  still  at  table.  "  Has 
Mr.  Gallatin  gone  East  with  Dick?  "  she  inquired,  turning 
rosy  red. 

"  No,"  replied  Courtney,  not  noting  Helen's  color.  If 
she  had,  she  would  have  suspected  nothing.  When  Helen 
came  home  in  good  spirits  from  that  visit  to  Saint  X,  after 
the  Chicago  shopping  trip,  and  was  no  longer  ill  at  ease 
with  Basil,  Courtney — eager,  as  we  all  are,  to  seize  the  first 
pretext  to  be  relieved  of  a  weight  upon  conscience — assumed 
that  she  had  got  completely  over  her  fancy.  As  for  Basil, 
Courtney  trusted  him  absolutely. 

"But  he's  away,  isn't  he?"  persisted  Helen,  after  a 
406 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

pause.     "  Lizzie  tells  me  his  rooms  haven't  been  disturbed 
for  two  nights." 

"  He  went  day  before  yesterday,  I  believe,"  said  Court- 
ney. "Did  you  see  Richard  this  morning?" 

"  Just  a  minute.  He  was  hurrying  for  the  train  when 
I  came  down." 

"  I  thought  he  didn't  look  very  well,  last  night,"  pur- 
sued Courtney. 

Helen,  absorbed  in  her  own  agitating  thoughts,  failed 
to  respond  to  this  lead;  so  she  put  the  question  direct. 
"  How  did  he  look  this  morning?  " 

"  About  as  usual,"  replied  Helen.  "  I  didn't  notice  any 
change.  He  had  on  that  new  gray  suit.  It's  very  becom- 
ing. When's  he  coming  back  ?  " 

Courtney  seemed  not  to  have  heard.  "  He  forgot  to 
give  me  his  address.  Did  he  leave  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  The  Willard  in  Washington,  then  the  Astor  in  New 
York." 

"  It  may  be  I'll  want  to  write  him  or  something." 

"  I  should  think  so !  "  cried  Helen.  "  You  and  he  write 
every  day,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  to  each  other/'  said  Courtney  dryly.  "  We  never 
did  establish  the  daily  letter.  That's  one  of  the  dreariest 
farces  in  married  life.  It  belongs  to  the  kind  of  people 
who  think  they're  happy  because  they're  too  stupid  or  too 
bored  to  quarrel." 

When  she  had  eaten  the  tip  end  of  a  roll  and  drunk  a 
little  coffee,  she  went  out  on  the  veranda,  sent  Winchie  to 
the  lawn  and  asked  Helen  to  sit  with  her  at  the  western 
end  where  no  one  could  hear  or  overhear.  "  You  asked  me 
when  Richard  was  coming  back,"  she  began. 

"  It  was  simply  a  chance  question,"  apologized  Helen. 

"  He's  not  coming  back." 

407 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Not  corning  back !  "  echoed  Helen.  "  You're  going  to 
move  East?  " 

The  emerald  eyes  met  Helen's  excited  glance  placidly. 
"  We  are  going  to  get  a  divorce/'  she  said. 

Helen's  big  brown  eyes  opened  wide.  With  lips  ajar 
she  stared  at  Courtney.  Then  she  gave  a  little  laugh  that 
sounded  as  if  the  shock  had  unbalanced  her  mind  and  re- 
duced her  to  imbecility.  "  A  divorce,"  she  murmured 
feebly. 

"  We  both  wish  to  be  free,"  continued  Courtney,  talk- 
ing in  the  matter-of-fact  way  that  was  the  surest  preven- 
tive of  hysteria  in  herself  or  in  Helen.  "  So,  he's  gone 
away.  I'll  stay  here  a  while,  then —  But  I  haven't  made 
any  plans.  There's  plenty  of  time." 

A  long  silence,  Helen  gazing  at  Courtney,  at  Winchie 
racing  along  the  paths  with  his  red-striped  wagon,  at  Court- 
ney again,  at  trees  and  lake,  as  if  she  doubted  the  reality 
of  all  things.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say !  "  she  exclaimed 
at  last. 

"  Naturally,"  replied  Courtney,  "  since  there's  nothing 
to  say." 

"I  can't  believe  it!" 

"Why  not?" 

"  There  aren't  two  people  better  suited  to  each  other. 
Why,  you  never  quarreled." 

"  That's  it.  I  love  contention.  He  wouldn't  give  it  to 
me.  So — pop  goes  the  weasel." 

"  How  can  you !  When  your  heart  must  be  breaking." 
Helen  put  aside  her  stupefaction  and  brought  the  tears  to 
her  soft  brown  eyes  in  tardy  conformity  to  the  etiquette  for 
nearest  female  friend  on  such  occasions. 

"  Now,  dear,  please  don't  cry.  You  know  that  I  know 
how  easy  it  is  for  women  to  cry,  and  how  little  it  means." 

408 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Helen  hastily  dried  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  dear !  It  must  be 
fixed  up !  "  she  said  in  a  more  natural  tone,  genuinely  sym- 
pathetic and  friendly.  "  He  doesn't  mean  it.  I'm  sure  he 
doesn't." 

Courtney  laughed  —  rather  disagreeably.  Helen  was 
confirming  her  own  newly  formed,  anything  but  exalted 
opinion  of  herself  as  a  human  value.  "  I  suppose  it'll  never 
for  an  instant  occur  to  anyone  that  I  might  be  the  discon- 
tented one." 

"  Well,  you  know,  yourself,  Courtney,"  stammered  Hel- 
en, "  it  doesn't  seem  likely  a  woman'd  give  up  a  good  hus- 
band and  a  good  home " 

Courtney's  arresting  smile  was  bitterly  ironic.  "  Indeed 
it  doesn't,"  assented  she.  "  Give  up  what  she  married  for? 
Not  unless  she  was  sure  of  a  better  living.  Men  think  they 
marry  for  love — but  it's  really  to —  I'm  not  equal  to  say- 
ipg  why  men  marry.  You  can  find  the  reason  in  Ben  Frank- 
lin's autobiography,  if  you  care  to  look  it  up.  As  for  us 
women — it's  the  living." 

"  It's  not  true  of  me !  "  cried  Helen,  who  had  in  all  its 
amusing,  or  exasperating,  efflorescence  the  universal  fem- 
inine passion  for  drawing  everything  down  to  the  personal, 
for  seeking  a  compliment  to  herself  or  a  reflection  upon  her- 
self in  any  and  every  remark  addressed  to  her  by  man  or 
woman.  "  Poor  as  I  am,  I'm 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Courtney  with  good-humored 
raillery.  "  At  your  age  I  was  talking  the  same  way. 
You'll  find  out  some  day  that  the  hardest  person  in  the 
world  to  get  acquainted  with  is  your  real  self.  Why,  there 
isn't  one  human  being  in  ten  million  who'd  know  his  real 
self  if  they  met  in  the  street."  She  rose  to  inspect  the 
thick  mat  of  morning-glories  trellised  up  the  end  of  the 
veranda.  "  And  most  of  us,  if  we  were  introduced  to  our 

409 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


real  selves,  would  refuse  to  speak  to  such  low  creatures — 
especially  the  romantic  people." 

"  I  know  I'd  not  marry  for  anything  but  love !  " 

Courtney,  her  back  to  Helen,  was  busy  with  the  morn- 
ing-glories. "  Of  course,"  said  she.  "  One  may  eat  because 
one  is  fond  of  the  dinner — of  the  dishes,  of  the  way  it's 
served,  of  the  company,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  But  what's 
the  real  reason  ?  "  She  turned  on  Helen  with  a  mocking 
smile.  "  Why,  because  to  live  one  must  eat.  That  makes 
the  rest  incidental.  A  sensible  person  tries  to  take  the  most 
favorable  view  of  the  food  he  has  to  eat  or  go  without.  A 
sensible  woman  does  her  best  to  love  the  man  that  asks  her." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  that  sort  of  things,  Courtney," 
Helen  cried.  "  I  know  illusions  are  illusions,  but  I  want  to 
keep  them." 

Courtney's  expression  changed  abruptly.  The  deep- 
green  eyes  looked  dreamily  away.  "  If  only  one  could  keep 
them ! "  she  said.  "  But  one  can't."  She  shook  her  head 
sadly.  "  One  can't."  Then  her  face  brightened.  "  My 
dear,  it's  better  to  throw  them  away  oneself  and  get — per- 
haps something  better — certainly  something  truer — in  place 
of  them.  Sooner  or  later  life  will  snatch  them  away,  any- 
how— and  leave  one  quite  naked."  She  turned  sad,  mysteri- 
ous eyes  on  the  girl.  "  You  don't  know,"  she  went  on, 
"  what  it  has  cost  me,  this  being  bred  in  illusions.  Illu- 
sions— everywhere!  Illusions  for  and  about  everything  and 
everybody!  Oh,  Helen — Helen — that's  what's  the  matter 
with  us  women.  That's  why  we're  such  poor  creatures — 
why  we  make  such  bad  marriages,  why  we're  such  imper- 
fect wives  and  mothers.  We  don't  think.  We  purr  or 
scratch." 

A  long  pause,  then  Helen  sighed.  "  And  I  believed  you 
and  Richard  were  happy !  " 

410 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  No,"  replied  Courtney,  her  smile  mocking,  but  pain 
in  her  eyes.  "  But  we're  going  to  be — if  we  can  get  over 
what  our  illusions  have  cost  us  and  can  set  our  feet  on  the 
solid  earth.  No  more  lies !  And  the  biggest  lie  of  all  is 
that  lying  can  ever  bring  real  happiness."  She  was  stand- 
ing in  the  long,  open  window.  She  thought  a  moment,  then 
said  with  an  energy  that  frightened  the  girl:  "And  I'm 
sick — sick — sick  of  perfumes  that  end  in  a  stench !  " 

That  afternoon  she  sent  an  acceptance  of  Richard's 
proposition — a  "  line  "  as  he  had  suggested:  "  Winchie  and 
I  will  stay  on  here  until  the  divorce — and,  if  you  so  wish, 
so  long  as  I  am  alone.  I  will  keep  Helen  here,  too."  On 
the  fourth  morning  after  the  dispatch  of  this,  there  came 
a  letter  from  James  &  Vandegrift,  inclosing  one,  unsealed, 
from  Richard.  She  read  the  inclosure  first: 

"MADAM:  From  this  date  I  cease  to  be  your  husband. 
You  may  take  such  legal  action  as  this  may  suggest. 

"  RICHARD  VAUGHAN." 

'  She  understood  that  Dick  was  simply  meeting  the  legal 
requirements.  But,  these  curt  words  made  her  tremble, 
made  her  skin  burn,  made  her  eyes  sink  with  shame,  though 
she  was  alone.  A  few  moments  and  she  glanced  at  the  ac- 
companying note  from  the  lawyers.  This  sentence  in  it 
caught  her  eye :  "  As  two  years  is  the  legal  period  in  this 
State  in  actions  on  the  ground  of  abandonment,  you  will 
observe  that  the  date  of  Mr.  Vaughan's  letter  enables  you 
shortly  to  begin  suit."  She  took  up  Dick's  letter,  looked 
at  the  date — August  17th,  two  years  before.  Then  in  a 
few  weeks  she  could  sue ;  in  a  few  weeks  more,  she  would  be 
free.  Free !  That  charmed  word  had  no  spell  of  exulta- 

411 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

tion  for  her.  She  sank  down  by  the  window  with  heart 
suddenly  faint  and  terror-stricken.  She  had  been  looking 
forward  to  a  long  time  in  which  to  plan — about  Winchie, 
about  her  future,  about  Basil.  And  she  would  have  only  a 
few  weeks.  A  few  weeks — and  her  whole  future  to  be  de- 
cided— and  she  without  experience,  without  anyone  she  could 
rely  upon  or  even  consult,  without  resources. 

August  17th — why  had  he  chosen  that  date?  With  so 
many  serious  things  to  think  of,  her  mind  kept  swinging 
back  to  that  triviality — why  August  17th?  All  at  once  it 
flashed  upon  her.  August  17th — that  was  the  date  when 
Nanny  had  spied  on  her  and  Basil  at  the  summerhouse. 
She  covered  her  face,  and  the  blood  surged  in  hot  billows 
against  her  scorching  skin. 

Helen  came,  crying:  "  Oh,  there  you  are.  Winchie  wants 
ice  cream  for  supper.  Don't  you  think —  Why,  Courtney, 
how  solemn  you  look !  " 

"  And  you  would,  too,"  said  Courtney,  "  if  your  hair 
had  been  falling  out  the  way  mine  has  lately." 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish,"  reassured  Helen.  "  You  could 
lose  half  of  what  you've  got,  and  still  have  more  than  most 
women.  .  .  .  Perhaps  it's  worry  that's  making  it  fall  ?  " 

"  I — worry  ?     How  absurd." 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  you  ever  do." 

"  Let's  have  the  ice  cream.  Chocolate.  And  I  feel 
just  like  jelly  rolL" 


XXVI 

THE  pause  before  the  first  decisive  step  toward  freedom 
— and  perhaps  away  from  Winchie — had  shrunk  to  a  day 
less  than  two  weeks. 

It  is  mercifully  not  in  human  nature  vividly  to  antici- 
pate catastrophe.  Death  is  the  absolute  certainty;  yet  no 
living  being  can  imagine  himself  dead.  And  it  was  any- 
thing but  certain  that  Dick  would  ever  assert  his  legal  right 
and  take  away  her  child.  In  her  anxiety  about  Winchie, 
she  had  been  giving  much  thought  to  Dick's  character, 
which  would  be  the  deciding  factor.  And  she  was  surprised 
at  the  knowledge  of  it  she  had  unconsciously  absorbed.  Ex- 
cept among  fools — who,  whether  they  look  within  or  with- 
out, see  nothing — it  is  a  commonplace  of  experience  to  dis- 
cover that  what  we  fancied  we  thought  about  a  certain  per- 
son, or  thing  is  precisely  the  opposite  of  what  we  really 
think  when  compelled  to  interrogate  ourselves  honestly. 
That  is  why  the  whole  world  can  live  and  die  by  formulas 
in  which  it  has  not  the  least  actual  belief.  These  discover- 
ies of  our  self-ignorance  always  astonish  us,  no  matter  how 
often  they  occur.  Courtney  had  got  many  surprises  of  this 
kind  in  the  past  two  years;  yet  this  find — her  intimate 
knowledge  of  her  "  abstract  "  husband's  character — seemed 
incredible. 

It  wasn't  strange  that  she  should  know  how  he  took  his 
coffee,  his  favorite  brand  of  cigarettes  and  of  whisky,  that 
he  detested  cold  baths  and  would  not  wear  underclothes  with 
silk  in  them,  or,  if  it  could  possibly  be  avoided,  starched 
shirts — that  he  hated  low  shoes  and  high  collars.  As  a 
27  413 


"  dutiful  wife  "  she  had  made  it  her  chief  business,  after 
Winchie,  to  see  to  her  legal  husband's  material  comfort, 
so  far  as  he  would  permit  it.  But  how  had  she  come  by  a 
deep  conviction  of  his  honesty,  of  his  truthfulness,  of  his 
incapacity  for  meanness  of  any  kind?  Where  had  she  got 
her  confidence  in  his  sense  of  justice — he  who  had  alienated 
her  by  his  stubborn  and  tyrannical  injustices  to  her?  Why 
did  she  summarily  dismiss  as  absurd  the  suggestion  that 
his  recent  conduct  was  dictated  merely  by  indifference  to 
her  or  selfish  consideration  for  his  own  comfort?  These 
high  ideas  of  him  certainly  did  not  date  from  their  court- 
ship and  honeymoon;  for,  then  she  had  no  more  interest 
or  discrimination  as  to  character  than  the  next  young  per- 
son. There  was  no  accounting  for  it.  She  simply  found 
that  these  beliefs  were  immovably  lodged  under  the  opin- 
ion of  him  she  had  supposed  was  hers — the  opinion  that 
had  made  her  love  for  Basil  seem  as  right  as  if  she  had  been 
a  girl.  So,  while  she  feared  he  would  take  Winchie  away 
from  her,  with  a  fear  dark  enough  to  shadow  her  days  and 
make  many  a  night  uneasy,  she  was  always  saying  to  her- 
self believingly,  "  He  could  not  do  anything  unjust." 

One  evening  she  fell  into  a  somber  mood.  It  wasn't  so 
clear  as  usual  that  Dick  would  see  the  to  her  obvious  injus- 
tice of  separating  mother  and  child.  She  left  Helen,  went 
up  and  stole  in  to  sit  by  Winchie's  bed — a  habit  she  had 
formed  lately.  She  got  so  low  spirited  that,  when  she  heard 
Helen  go  along  the  hall  toward  the  upstairs  sitting  room, 
she  slipped  downstairs  and  out  into  the  air  to  wander  among 
the  flowers  and  beneath  the  scented  trees.  There  was  a 
thin  moon  and  one  of  those  faint,  soft,  intermittent  breezes 
that  give  the  disquieting  yet  fascinating  sense  of  spirit  com- 
panionship. She  strolled  to  the  edge  of  the  lake ;  the  fire- 
flies seemed  the  eyes  of  the  breeze  spirits  that  were  whis- 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

paring  and  friendlily  touching  her.  She  saw  a  boat  with 
a  single  occupant  a  few  yards  down  the  lake,  close  in  shore. 
Even  as  she  glanced,  a  low  voice — Basil's — came  from  the 
boat:  "  Courtney — may  I  come?  " 

She  was  not  startled.  Before  the  voice  she  had  thought, 
"  Basil  will  probably  be  trying  to  see  me  before  long." 
She  answered  in  the  same  undertone,  "  Helen  may  be  look- 
ing this  way." 

"If  you  sit  on  the  bench  down  here,  I  can  come  to  you. 
The  shadow's  deep  enough." 

She  hesitated,  went  to  the  bench  he  indicated.  The 
press  of  the  immediate  had  been  all  but  keeping  him  out  of 
her  mind.  But  whenever  she  did  think  of  him  it  was  as  her 
lover.  With  a  nature  as  tenacious  as  hers  habit  is  not  de- 
throned in  a  day  or  demolished  all  at  once  by  any  convul- 
sion however  violent.  Also,  the  more  she  suffered  and  the 
lonelier  she  felt — not  a  soul  about  to  whom  she  could  speak 
or  hint  any  part  of  what  was  harassing  her — the  more  ten- 
der grew  her  thoughts  of  the  man  in  whom  she  had  invested, 
so  much.  Throwing  good  love  after  bad  is  not  a  rare  hu- 
man weakness — and  Courtney  was  by  no  means  certain  in 
those  depressed  days  that  her  investment  had  been  bad, 
as  such  investments  go  in  a  world  of  human  beings. 

He  soon  had  his  boat  opposite  the  bench,  made  it  fast. 
He  sprang  to  her,  seized  her  hands  and  was  kissing  them. 
"  No — no.  You  mustn't,"  she  protested,  drawing  away. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it !  "  he  cried.  "  How  I  suffered  till 
I  heard  your  voice  on  the  telephone !  I  was  watching  the 
house  with  a  glass  all  afternoon  until  dark.  I  was  in  the 
boat,  lying  a  few  rods  up  there  all  night.  And  from  dawn 
I  was  across  the  lake  watching  with  the  glass  again.  So, 
I  knew  everything  was  quiet.  But  until  your  voice  came, 
I  was  mad  with  dread — though  I  had  seen  you,  just  like 

415 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

your  usual  self,  in  the  grounds  and  on  the  veranda  hours 
before.     But — tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell,"   said  she.      His  recital  had 
seemed  to  her  as  if  it  were  of  something  in  which  she  had 
neither  part  nor  interest. 
"  He  knows,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes — he  knows."    And  there  she  stopped  because  she 
never  had  discussed  and  never  would  discuss  with  anyone 
what  happened  between  her  and  her  husband. 
"  What  is  he  going  to  do?  " 
"  I  don't  know." 

"  But —      Don't  keep  me  in  suspense,   dear.      1$  he 
going  to  get  a  divorce?  " 
"  No.     I'm  to  get  it." 

"  Your  voice  is  very  queer.    Aren't  you — glad?  " 
"  I'm  afraid  about  Winchie." 

"  Oh — of  course.     Does  he  threaten  to — "  Basil  halted. 
"  No.     But —    Basil,  you  must  go." 
"  Go  ?     It's  perfectly  safe  here." 

"  Yes.  But  I've  no  right  to  see  you,  after  the  way 
he  has  acted — until  I'm  free."  All  true  enough;  yet  she 
could  not  make  her  voice  sound  right  to  herself.  "  It  isn't 
seise  and  it  isn't  honorable,"  she  ended  haltingly. 

She  saw,  or  rather  felt,  him  eying  her  somberly.   "  When 
will  you  be  free?  "  he  asked  in  a  constrained  tone. 
"  In  a  few  months — I  think." 

"  And  then  we  shall  marry  at  once."     He  said  it  in  the 
tone  a  man  uses  when  he  wishes  to  convince  himself  and 
another  that  what  he  is  saying  is  the  matter  of  course. 
She  did  not  answer. 

He  laughed  unpleasantly.  "  You  don't  seem  overjoyed 
at  the  prospect." 

"  I'm  thinking  of  Winchie." 
416 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Oh !  "  A  pause ;  then  he  asked,  "  As  soon  as  you've 
got  Winchie  safely,  we'll  marry  ?  " 

This  was  a  question  she  had  not  faced  alone,  yet.  She 
was  far  from  ready  to  face  it  with  him.  She  found  one 
of  those  phrases  that  come  easily  and  naturally  to  women, 
ever  compelled  to  be  diplomatic.  "  If  we  both  wish  it 
then."  Lightly,  "  You  see,  as  I'm  escaping  with  reputa- 
tion intact,  you're  not  bound  to  marry  me." 

"  Bound?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Courtney,  please  don't  joke 
about  this." 

"  I'm  quite  serious — though  I  don't  act  as  funereally 
as  you  do  when  you  think  you're  serious." 

"  We  love  each  other,  and " 

"Do  we?"  An  impulse  of  honesty,  of  impatience  at 
her  own  yielding  to  the  temptation  to  temporize  forced  her 
to  say  it,  "  Do  we,  Basil?  " 

"  Courtney,  have  you — changed  ?  Can't  you  forgive  me 
for " 

"  It  isn't  that,"  she  interrupted,  and  she  thought  she 
was  telling  the  truth.  "  Let's  never  speak  of  that.  No — 
it's —  Could  anyone  go  through  what  we  have  without 
being — sobered?  " 

"  That's  true.  It  has  made  me  love  you  more  intensely, 
more  earnestly  than  ever.  What  we've  suffered  has  made 
us  like — like  the  two  pieces  of  metal  the  fire  fuses  into 
one." 

"  That  sounds  nice.     But — is  it  so  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  is ! "  he  cried  angrily. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  replied,  as  if  she  were  weighing 
every  word.  "  I've  made  up  my  mind  not  to  tell  any  more 
lies,  especially  to  myself.  I  don't  feel  as  I  used  to  feel. 
There's — some  one  between  us." 

"  Vaughan  ?  " 

417 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  Yes.  I've  a  sense  of  obligation  to  him.  If  you  had 
seen  what  I  saw — how  far  above  the  little  men  who  go  in 
for  cheap  theatricals  or  act  like  mad  dogs 

To  his  sensitiveness  it  seemed  for  an  instant  that  she 
was  hitting  at  him,  was  slyly  reminding  him  of  his  own 
conduct.  But  he  soon  felt  that  he  was  mistaken — that 
there  was  another  reason  why  her  words  stung  him.  "It 
sounds  as  if  you  were  falling  in  love  with  him,"  he  said 
in  a  grotesque  attempt  at  a  voice  of  raillery. 

"  No/'  replied  she,  and  her  voice  satisfied  him.  "  That 
part  of  my  life  is  over.  It  could  no  more  be  brought  back 
than  last  year's  summer." 

"  Winter,"  he  corrected. 

"  It  wasn't  all  winter,  to  be  fair,"  said  she,  and  changed 
the  subject  with,  "  But — remember,  you  are  free — free  as 
I  am.  We  shan't  see  each  other  or  hear  from  each  other 
for  a  long  time.  It  may  be  that  you'll  fall  in  love  with 
somebody  else " 

"  Courtney,  do  you  love  me?  .  .  .  Look  at  me.  An- 
swer." 

She  continued  to  gaze  out  over  the  lake.  "  Honestly, 
I  do  not  know.  Sometimes  I  think  I  do.  Again  I  won- 
der, did  I  love  you  or  was  I  only  in  love  with  love?  It's 
so  easy  to  fool  oneself  when  one  wants  anything  as  much  as 
I  wanted  love." 

"If  you  knew  how  you  were — hurting  me,  you'd  not 
say  these  things." 

"Would  you  rather  I  lied  to  you?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes !  For,  I  love  you  and  I  can't  live  without  you. 
You've  made  yourself  necessary  to  me.  We  must  marry 
as  soon  as  you  are  free  and  have  Winchie." 

"  Yes — we  will  marry,  I  suppose.  There  isn't  anybody 
so  near  to  me." 

418 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Except  Winchie." 

"  Winchie  is  me." 

"  I  understand/'  he  said.  "  It's — beautiful.  Ah,  Court- 
ney, we  must  marry  as  soon  as  we  can." 

"  No.     I  must —  "     She  paused. 

"  Go  on,  dear.     What  is  it  that's  to  keep  us  apart  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  independent  as  well  as  free."  The  truth 
was  out  at  last — the  truth  her  nature  as  a  woman  of  shel- 
tered breeding  was  always  dodging,  but  which  her  intelli- 
gence and  pride  were  forcing  her  to  face.  "  I  must  be 
independent." 

"  There  couldn't  be  any  question  of  that  kind  between 
us." 

"  There  shan't  be,"  replied  she  with  energy  that  startled 
him. 

"  I'll  settle  any  amount  you  say  on  you.  I'll  make 
myself  your  dependent  if  you  wish." 

She  laughed  in  a  sweet,  tender  way.  Whatever  his 
faults  and  failings,  he  certainly  was  generous.  "  Basil !  " 
she  murmured.  Then :  "  As  if  that  would  help  matters. 
Why,  anything  I  got  from  you  would  only  increase  my 
dependence.  No,  I  must  be  really  free — so  neither  of  us 
could  think  for  an  instant  I  was  your  wife  because  I  had 
to  be  supported — or  you  were  my  husband  because  you  felt 
I  was  helpless.  We  women  have  got  to  stop  being  canary 
birds  if  we're  to  get  real  self-respect — or  real  considera- 
tion." 

"  What  queer  notions  you  do  get,"  said  he  with  man's 
tolerant  amusement  at  the  fantasies  of  the  women  and  the 
children.  "  Think  of  wasting  such  a  night — and  our  few 
minutes  together — discussing  theories — and  sordid  ones  !  " 

"  Sordid !  Basil,  we're  made  out  of  earth  and  we've  got 
to  live  on  the  ground.  I'm  done  forever  with  the  kind  of 

419 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

romance  and  idealism  we  were  brought  up  on.  I'm  going 
to  build  as  high  as  I  can,  but  I'm  going  to  build  on  the 
ground.  No  more  cloud  castles  that  vanish  when  the  wind 
changes.  I'm  going  to  use  romance  for  decoration  not 
for  building  stone,  and  cakes  for  dessert,  not  in  place  of 
bread." 

He  laughed  appreciatively.  "  How  clever  you  are ! 
We'll  get  on  beautifully,"  he  said.  "  You're  the  sort  of 
woman  that  never  bores  a  man  or  makes  him  feel  like  look- 
ing about." 

"  Are  you  the  sort  of  man  that  never  bores  a  woman 
or  makes  her  feel  like  looking  about?  " 

"  That's  not  for  me  to  say,"  answered  he  with  a  care- 
less laugh. 

"  It  doesn't  strike  you  as  important — what  a  woman 
might  think  about  such  matters,  does  it?  "  said  she,  good- 
humored  in  her  mockery. 

"  Oh,  yes — if  the  woman's  you.  But  let's  not  bother 
about  such  things.  It  seems  such  a  waste  of  time.  One 
kiss  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.     "  Not  with  Richard  looking  on." 

"  Do  you  rvant  me  to  kiss  you — dear  ?  "  he  said  pas- 
sionately. 

With  a  nervous  glance  toward  the  house  she  rose. 
"  Please !  "  she  said,  in  vague  entreaty.  "  You  must  go." 

"  You  haven't  told  me — anything — yet."  He  cast  hur- 
riedly about  for  some  way  to  detain  her.  "  There  are  your 
plans  for  being  independent." 

"  I  haven't  any." 

"  Do  sit  down.     I'll  not  touch  you  again." 

"  It  isn't  that,  Basil.  It's  for  the  same  reason  that  I 
didn't  write  and  can't  Hasn't  what  he's  done  pledged  us 
both  to " 

420 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Don't  say  any  more,  Courtney/'  he  interrupted ;  for 
he  saw  how  profoundly  in  earnest  she  was,  and  respected 
her  for  it.  "  You're  right.  I'm  going."  He  took  her 
hand,  pressed  it.  "  Dear,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  what  it 
was  that  nearly  drove  me  insane  after  you  sent  me  away? 
As  soon  as  I  thought  about  it,  I  knew  no  harm  would  come 
to  you.  He's  neither  a  coward  nor  a  beast.  But  I  was 
afraid  you'd — kill  yourself." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  laughed  she.  "  I'm  too  healthy. 
You  ought  to  build  your  romance  round  some  lady  with 
the  morbid  ideas  that  go  with  addled  insides — the  kind 
they  write  novels  about — only  they  call  it  soul." 

He  was  amused  in  spite  of  himself.  "  It's  lucky  for 
you,"  said  he,  "  that  you  look  like  a  romance.  If  you 
didn't,  your  way  of  talking  would  discourage  terribly." 

"  Is  lying  the  only  romance  ?  "  said  she.  "  Can't  you 
enjoy  the  perfume  of  a  flower  unless  you  make  a  silly  pre- 
tense that  perfume  and  flower  are  a  fairy  queen  and  her 
breath  ?  " 

She  went  with  him  to  the  retaining  wall,  gave  him  her 
hand,  tried  to  respond  to  his  loving  pressure.  He  got  into 
the  boat.  His  expression  in  that  odorous,  enchantment- 
like  dimness  thrilled  her.  The  feeling  that  he  was  going 
— leaving  her  to  face  the  lowering  future  alone — saddened 
her,  moved  her  to  an  emotion  very  like  the  love  that  had 
so  often  agitated  her  in  these  very  shadows.  And  when 
he  murmured,  "  Soon — my  love !  "  she  echoed  "  Soon !  "  in 
a  voice  melodious  with  the  meaningless,  impulsive  senti- 
ment of  the  moment.  It  sent  him  away  believing.  He 
pushed  off.  She  watched  the  boat  glide  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  shadow.  A  few  seconds  and  the  darkness  had 
effaced  it.  She  went  slowly  up  the  lawn.  Before  she 
reached  the  house,  Winchie  was  again  uppermost  in  her 

421 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

thoughts;  to  think  of  Basil  involved  puzzling  over  too  many 
problems  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  face. 


That  was  one  of  the  years  when  the  warm  weather  stays 
on  and  on;  goes  for  a  night,  only  to  return  with  the  morn- 
ing sun  and  change  the  hoar  frost  on  the  grass  into  dew; 
then  in  late  October  or  later  drifts  languorously  south- 
ward through  the  dreamy  haze  of  Indian  summer.  On  an 
afternoon  midway  of  this  second  and  sweeter,  if  sadder, 
summer  Courtney  came  out  of  her  sitting  room  to  the  bal- 
cony to  rest  a  moment  and  to  watch  the  sun  set — a  dull 
red  globe  like  a  vast  conflagration  of  which  the  autumnal 
mists  were  the  smoke  and  steam.  Winchie  and  Helen  were 
playing  ball  on  the  lawn,  with  Helen  making  great  pre- 
tense of  being  unable  to  catch  or  to  hold  Winchie's  curves 
and  hard  straights.  Winchie,  about  to  throw,  dropped  the 
ball,  jumped  up  and  down  clapping  his  hands,  made  a 
dash  for  the  veranda,  crying  "  Papa !  Papa !  "  Next  she 
saw  Helen,  in  confusion,  turn  and  go  in  the  same  direction, 
her  delicate  skin  paling  and  flushing  by  turns. 

In  the  upstairs  sitting  room  was  the  seamstress  who 
made  a  local  journal  of  society  gossip  unnecessary;  as  the 
divorce  suit  had  been  begun  and  was  the  chief  local  topic, 
the  less  she  saw  and  heard,  the  more  what  she'd  circulate 
would  sound  like  pure  invention.  Courtney  went  along  the 
balcony  to  the  hall  window  and  entered  there.  Winchie 
had  just  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs.  "  Oh,  mamma — "  he 
began,  all  out  of  breath. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  she,  laying  her  finger  on  her  lips. 
"  Let's  go  down." 

And  holding  him  by  the  hand  she  descended.  Richard 
and  Helen  were  in  the  lake-front  doorway,  Richard  talking, 

422 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Helen  obviously  nervous.  Courtney  advanced,  her  hand 
extended.  "How  do  you  do?"  said  she  with  easy  friend- 
liness. 

"  No  need  to  ask  you  that,"  replied  Dick.  "  Or  the 
boy,  either,  How  he  has  shot  up !  " 

"  We've  had  a  great  summer  and  fall  for  growing 
things,"  said  Courtney.  Then  to  Helen:  "Don't  let  us 
interrupt  your  game." 

"  Yes  —  of  course  —  Come,  Winchie,"  stammered 
Helen. 

"  Just  watch  me  pitch,  father,"  cried  Winchie.  "  Jim- 
mie's  taught  me  to  curve." 

"  You  don't  say ! "  exclaimed  Dick  with  an  interest 
whose  exaggeration  roused  no  suspicion  in  the  boy's  breast. 

While  Richard  was  watching  the  exhibition  with  such 
exclamations  as  "  fine  " — "  that's  a  soaker  " — "  look  out  or 
you'll  do  up  your  catcher/'  Courtney  was  watching  him. 
She  found  no  trace  of  the  weary,  tragedy-torn  misanthrope 
of  song  and  story.  Evidently  Dick  had  been  too  busy  with 
other  things  to  bother  about  himself.  Instead  of  travel 
stains,  there  was  neatness  and  care  and  not  a  little  fashion 
in  his  apparel.  Never  had  she  seen  him  so  well  dressed 
— and  in  admirable  taste  from  collar  and  tie  to  well-cut 
tan  boots.  His  hair  was  short — the  way  it  was  becoming 
to  his  long,  strong  face  and  finely  shaped  head.  The  face 
was  not  so  gaunt  as  in  those  years  of  close  application, 
especially  the  last  two  years  when  indigestion  was  giving 
him  its  look  of  hunger  and  sallow  ill  temper.  The  cheeks 
had  filled  out,  had  bronzed,  and  the  blood  was  pouring 
healthily  along  underneath.  It  was  distinctly  a  happier 
face,  too.  The  eyes  following  Winchie's  elaborate  contor- 
tions in  imitation  of  the  famous  pitcher  of  the  Wenona 
Grays  had  an  expression  of  aliveness  and  alertness  that 

423 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 


meant  interest  in  the  world  about  him.  He  had  been  one 
of  those  men  of  no  age,  like  monks  and  convicts  and  pro- 
fessional students.  He  was  now  a  young  man — and  a 
handsome  young  man. 

.  When  he  turned  away  from  the  ball  game,  they  went 
to  the  eastern  end  of  the  veranda.  She  sat  in  the  ham- 
mock, he  leaned  on  the  broad  arm  of  a  veranda  chair. 
"  Well,"  said  he,  by  way  of  a  beginning,  "  you  see  I'm 
back." 

"  You've  been  abroad — haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Paris  and  Switzerland.  I  had  a  grand  time.  Fell 
in  with  some  English  people  and  we  did  three  passes  to- 
gether, and  then  rested  and  amused  ourselves  at  St.  Moritz. 
Then — to  Paris.  I  never  thought  I'd  care  about  eating, 
but  the  Ritz  seduced  me.  I  think  of  nothing  else.  Then 
— London,  to  get  myself  outfitted.  I  needed  it  badly." 

What  he  said  sounded  strange  enough  from  him,  from 
Richard  the  abstraction,  the  embodied  chemistry.  The  way 
he  said  it  was  stupefying.  There  was  lightness ;  there  was 
the  sparkle  that  bubbles  to  the  surface  of  every  look  and 
phrase  of  a  person  with  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  Richard 
had  plainly  come  to  life  while  he  was  away.  Said  Court- 
ney: "  I  suspect  you've  not  worked  very  hard  this  summer 
and  fall." 

"  Work?  "  replied  he,  with  a  laugi.  "  Not  I !  It  was 
a  hard  pull  at  first,  the  habit  had  become  so  strong.  But 
I  determined  I'd  freshen  myself  up.  Once  I  got  away 
where  I  could  take  an  impartial  look  at  things,  I  saw  I 
was  not  only  not  getting  the  right  results  by  such  stolid, 
stupid  grinding  but  was  actually  destroying  my  mind — 
was  getting  old  and  stale.  So,  I  locked  up  the  laboratory 
I  carry  round  inside  me,  and  set  out  to  learn  to  live — to 
learn  to  have  a  good  time." 

424 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  And  you  did  ?  " 

"  Once  I  found  congenial  people.  At  first  I  was  afraid 
I'd  been  stupid  so  long  that  I'd  lost  the  power  to  enjoy. 
But  it  came  back." 

As  he  talked  Courtney's  spirits  went  down  and  down. 
Just  why,  she  could  not  have  told.  She  certainly  wished 
Eichard  well,  had  no  desire  that  he  should  be  miserable — 
at  least,  no  active  desire — though,  of  course,  she  was 
human  and  would  have  found  some  satisfaction  of  vanity 
in  a  Richard  hard  hit  by  the  discovery  that  his  domestic 
life  was  in  ruins.  Still,  this  vanity  of  desire  to  be  taken 
tragically  was  not  with  her  the  passion  it  is  in  most  men 
and  women.  She  was  far  more  puzzled  than  piqued.  She 
could  not  understand  how  so  serious,  so  proud  a  man  as  he 
could  dismiss  a  cataclysm  thus  lightly,  no  matter  how 
little  he  cared  for  her.  She  had  pictured  him  suffering, 
suffering  intensely;  these  pictures  had  given  her  many  a 
self-reproachful  pang,  and  of  real  pain  too.  Now — 
Looking  at  this  robust,  handsome,  cheerful  person,  well  fed 
and  well  dressed,  she  felt  she  had  been  making  a  fool  of 
herself. 

"  Now  that  I  come  to  examine  you,"  he  was  saying, 
"  you  don't  look  at  all  well." 

It  was  a  truth  of  which  she  had  been  uncomfortably, 
conscious  from  her  first  glance  at  him.  "  You  ought  to 
have  gone  away  somewhere,"  he  went  on.  "  It's  a  bad 
idea  to  stay  in  the  same  place,  revolving  the  same  set  of 
ideas  too  long.  Mrs.  Leamington  taught  me  that.  You'd 
like  her.  Your  height — much  your  figure — fairer  skin, 
though — that  clear  healthy  dead  white — a  lot  of  really 
beautiful  black  hair — the  kind  with  the  gloss  that's  not 
greasy.  She  certainly  was  interesting.  I  didn't  even  mind 
her.  love  of  money.  She  simply  had  to  have  it — needed  it 

425 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 


in  her  business  of  being  always  wonderfully  dressed  and 
groomed  to  the  last  hair  and  the  last  button." 

Richard  paused  to  enjoy  contemplating  the  protrait  he 
had  painted.  Courtney  wished  to  hear  more.  "  She  was 
in  your  party  ?  " 

"  She  made  most  of  the  interest.  She  cured  me  of  my 
insanity  for  work — gave  me  a  wider  view — made  me  stop 
being  a  vain  ass,  thinking  always  about  my  own  little 
ambitions  and  worries.  There's  a  lot  that  doesn't  attract 
me  in  women  of  the  world.  They're  extremely  petty  at 
bottom,  I  find.  But  at  least  they  do  come  nearer  the  truth 
with  their  cynicism  than  we  quiet  people  with  our  pre- 
posterous egotism  of  solemnity." 

Once  more  her  vanity  winced — that  he  should  fancy  he 
had  to  go  to  Europe  and  learn  of  a  cynical  mercenary  of 
an  English  woman  what  she  herself  had  made  the  law  and 
gospel  of  her  life  for  years.  How  feeble  her  impression 
upon  him  had  been!  True,  the  only  chance  one  has  to 
make  an  impression  is  in  the  beginning  of  acquaintance- 
ship; and  in  their  beginning  she  had  been  too  inexperi- 
enced, too  captivated  with  romance — too  youthful  to  have 
developed  much  personality.  Still,  all  that  did  not  change 
the  central  fact — she  had  been  futile. 

"  How's  the  divorce  coming  on?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

Courtney  laughed — perhaps  not  so  genuinely  as  it 
sounded,  but  still  with  real  humorous  appreciation.  "  The 
beautiful  English  woman — a  long  silence — then  the  ques- 
tion about  the  divorce — that's  significant/'  she  explained. 

"  She's  not  the  marrying  kind,"  replied  he,  easily 
enough.  "  She'll  stay  free  as  long  as  her  looks  and  her 
money  hold  out.  Then  she'll  marry  some  rich  chap  and 
go  in  for  society.  .  .  .  She  was  an  interesting  woman — a 
specimen,  so  to  speak.  And  I  owe  her  a  great  deal.  She 

426 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

taught  me  a  few  very  important  things — about  myself — and 
about  women.  .  .  .  What  a  fraud  this  so-called  education 
is.  One  half  of  fitting  a  man  for  life  is  to  teach  him  to 
know  men,  the  other  half  is  to  teach  him  to  know  women. 
And  we  actually  are  taught  only  about  things — and  mostly 
trifles  or  falsehoods  as  to  them." 

His  manner  demolished  her  suspicion.  There  might 
have  been  some  sort  of  an  affair  between  him  and  this 
English  woman — perhaps  had  been.  If  so,  it  was  a  closed 
incident.  "  You  asked  about  the  divorce/'  said  she:  "  The 
suit  was  begun,  but  it  has  gone  over  till  the  next  term  of 
court." 

"  Was  it  my  fault  ?  "  he  asked,  apologetically.  "  I've 
missed  my  mail  for  nearly  two  months." 

Her  hands,  clasped  in  her  lap,  were  white  at  the 
knuckles.  Her  eyes,  meeting  his,  had  deep  down  an  ex- 
pression that  also  belied  her  calm  manner  and  even  voice. 
"  I  didn't  want  to  take  the  last  steps  until  we  had  decided 
about  Winchie." 

"  Winchie,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  his  glance  wandering 
to  the  lawn.  The  boy  and  Helen  were  resting  now,  seated 
at  the  edge  of  the  lake.  "  There's  where  marriage  differs 
from  other  business.  When  it  goes  bankrupt,  children  are 
assets  that  can't  be  liquidated.  .  .  .  What  do  you  think 
ought  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  I  admit  you've  got  a  share  in  him,"  replied  she.  "  But 
you  can't  help  seeing  that  he  belongs  with  his  mother." 

"  I  do  see  it,"  he  declared.  "  If  I  took  him,  what  could 
I  do  with  him?  Helen'll  marry  before  long.  Then — 
Could  there  be  anything  worse  for  him  than  trusting  him 
to  the  care  of  strangers?  .  .  .  As  for  his  traveling  back 
and  forth  between  his  mother's  house  and  his  father's — 
that's  a  farce  that  could  only  end  in  some  sort  of  calamity 

427 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

to  his  character.  ...  I  don'  know  what  to  say.  I  know 
I  could  trust  you  absolutely  to  protect  him  from  any 
possible — unfortunate  influences — but — "  And  there  he 
halted. 

She  saw  he  was  expecting  her  to  realize  that  he  meant 
the  disadvantages  of  Basil  as  a  stepfather.  It  was  stupefy- 
ing— simply  stupefying — this  calm  attitude  of  his  toward 
such  terrible  things — at  least,  they  were  things  he  had  al- 
ways regarded  as  terrible. 

"  Don't  be  so  gloomy  about  it,"  said  he,  as  if  reading 
her  thoughts.  "  I  find  I  can  think  a  great  deal  more 
effectively  when  I'm  not  trying  to  act  like  the  best  exam- 
ples from  fiction  but  am  simply  human  and  natural.  Court- 
ney, the  world — at  least,  the  intelligent  people  in  it — have 
outgrown  the  old,  ignorant,  swashbuckling  sort  of  thing. 
Of  course,  it  still  survives,  and  ignorant  people  and  vain 
people  still  try  to  act  on  the  prescriptions  of  yesterday — 
and  all  the  literature  still  pretends  that  they  are  valid. 
But  the  truth  is,  men  and  women  are  getting  enlightened. 
And  we — you  and  I — are  doing,  not  what  looks  best,  but 
what  is  best.  Winchie  isn't  a  problem  in  a  novel  or  a  poem. 
He's  an  actuality.  And  I  see  plainly  his  chances  are  bet- 
ter with  you — in  any  circumstances — than  with  me."  To 
make  sure  that  she  should  understand,  he  repeated,  "  In 
any  circumstances." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said 
humbly.  "  Thank  you." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  For  what?  For  not 
being  a  fool?  "  He  swung  round  into  the  chair  and  leaned 
toward  her.  "  There  are  some  things  we've  got  to  say  to 
each  other.  I  went  away  to  put  off  the  saying  until  I  was 
sure  just  where  I  stood.  I  am  sure  now.  Do  you —  Shall 
we — begin  ?  " 

428 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

"  I  wish  to  Lear  whatever  you  wish  to  say,"  replied  she. 
"  But — is  it  necessary  to  say  anything?  " 

He  leaned  back,  lighted  a  cigarette,  smoked  in  silence. 
She  again  studied  him.  That  changed  expression — the 
tense,  concentrated  strain  gone — a  sense  of  life,  of  attractive 
possibilities  in  it  other  than  chemistry,  gave  him  a  human- 
ness,  a  reality  he  had  not  had  for  her  even  in  their  first 
months  of  married  life.  "  Perhaps  you're  right,"  said  he, 
rousing  himself.  "Why  mull  over  the  past?  And  our 
futures  lie  in  different  directions."  He  noted  the  queer, 
intent  look  in  her  eyes.  "What's  the  matter?  You  seem 
puzzled." 

"  Nothing.     I—     Nothing." 

"  It's  the  change  in  me — in  my  point  of  view — isn't 
it?" 

"  Your — your  mind  certainly  seems  to  have  changed." 

"  Dropped  its  prejudices,  rather,"  was  his  reply. 
"  There's  a  difference.  A  man's  mind's  himself.  His 
prejudices  are  more  or  less  external — can  be  sloughed  off, 
like  clothes." 

That  was  it,  she  now  saw.  He  had  got  rid  of  those 
prejudices.  The  dead  hand  of  his  grandfather  was  no 
longer  heavy  upon  him.  This  man,  seated  there  before 
her  in  the  vividness  of  youth,  was  the  real  Richard 
Vaughan. 

"  You  used  to  tell  me  the  truth  about  myself,"  he 
went  on  reflectively.  "  I  had  never  seriously  thought 
about  women — about  the  relations  of  men  and  women. 
I  simply  accepted  my  grandfather  as  gospel  on  those 
subjects.  My  crisis  forced  me  to  do  some  thinking — and 
I  believe  you'll  do  me  the  justice  of  admitting  I  never 
would  be  stupid  enough  to  act  in  a  crisis  without  try- 
ing to  use  the  best  mind  I  had.  Well — when  I  got  away 
28  429 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


— and  thought — I  saw  that  the  whole  business  was  my 
fault." 

"  No,"  protested  she.  "  There  was  where  I  wronged 
you.  I  blamed  you — myself  a  little — but  you  most.  That 
was  unjust.  But  let's  not  talk  about  it.  The  past  is — the 
past.  I  wish  to  drop  all  of  it  except  its  lessons.  They'll 
be  useful  in  the  future." 

"  One  thing  more/'  he  said.  "  I  want  to  say  I'm  glad 
of  what  has  happened." 

She  simply  stared  at  him. 

"  That  would  sound  strange,  I  suppose,  to  the  mob  in 
the  treadmill  of  conventionality/'  he  went  on,  apparently 
not  noting  her  expression.  "  But  I'm  grateful  to — to 
whatever  it  was — fate  or  chance  or  what  you  please — for 
my  awakening.  But  for  it,  what'd  have  become  of  me? 
Like  so  many  men  who  try  to  be  masters  of  their  profes- 
sion or  business,  I  had  let  it  become  master  of  me.  A 
little  longer,  and  I'd  have  been  a  dust-dry,  routine  plodder, 
getting  more  and  more  useless  every  day.  No  wonder  the 
world  advances  so  slowly.  Just  look  at  the  musty,  narrow 
rotters  who  do  the  work.  They  specialize.  They  soon  lose 
touch  with  the  whole.  And  their  minds  dwindle  as  their 
natures  and  interests  narrow." 

".You're  not  thinking  of  giving  up  your  work!"  she 
exclaimed  in  dismay. 

"  I'm  here  to  begin  again,"  replied  he,  with  his  fine 
look  of  energy  and  persistence.  "  But  not  in  the  old  way. 
Not  month  in  and  month  out,  like  a  hermit — but  with  some 
sanity — and,  I'm  sure,  with  better  results.  That  brings 
me  to  my  real  reason  for  calling.  I  wished  to  ask  if  you 
had  any  objection  to  my  living  and  working  at  the  shop." 
As  the  color  flamed  into  her  face,  he  hurried  on,  "  I'll  keep 
an  independent  establishment  in  every  way  and  bind  myself 

430 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

not  to  disturb  you.     If  you  like,  Helen  can  bring  Winchie 
down  to  see  me  from  time  to  time — but  not  unless  you  like." 

"  I'll  take  Winchie  and  go  to  father's/'  said  she,  pain- 
fully embarrassed.  "  I'd  not  have  stopped  on  here,  but 
you'll  remember  you  made  it  a  condition " 

"  If  you  leave,  I  leave  also,"  he  rejoined.  His  manner 
was  emphatic,  final.  "  I've  no  intention  of  intruding. 
Please  forget  I  said  anything."  He  rose  to  leave.  "  I'm 
going  to  move  my  laboratory  to  Chicago  or  New  York. 
A  few  months  sooner  will  make  no  difference." 

She  insisted  that  she  would  go — that  she  preferred  to 
go — that  going  was  entirely  agreeable  to  her.  But  in 
the  end  he  convinced  her  he  really  wished  her  to  keep  on 
at  the  house,  to  make  Winchie  feel  it  was  his  home — and 
would  leave  if  she  even  talked  of  leaving.  "  I'll  arrange 
with  Gerster's  wife  over  at  the  farm  to  feed  me  and  keep 
the  apartment  in  order.  So,  everything  will  go  on  just  as 
if  I  were  a  thousand  miles  away." 

When  he  went — like  a  caller  after  a  pleasant  hour — she 
was  glad  because  she  wished  to  be  alone,  free  to  shut  her- 
self in  her  room  with  the  many  strange  things  he  had  given 
her  to  think  about — the  many  startling  things.  But  just 
as  she  got  the  seamstress  off  for  home,  in  came  Helen, 
hoping  that  Courtney  would  talk  of  the  amazing  call,  deter- 
mined to  talk  of  it  herself,  anyhow.  "  Forgive  me  for 
asking,  Courtney,"  said  she.  "  But  I  simply  must.  You've 
decided  to  give  up  the  divorce,  haven't  you  ?  " 

The  emerald  eyes  looked  amused  astonishment. 
"  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  and  he  are  just — just  as  you  always  were." 

"  Indeed  we're  not !  "  exclaimed  she.  "  Absolutely  dif- 
ferent." 

"  But  I  never  saw  two  people  friendlier " 

431 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

"  That's  it.  That's  precisely  it.  Now  that  we've  freed 
each  other,  I  can  like  him  and  he  can  like  me." 

Helen  was  not  hearing.  Suddenly  she  burst  out :  "  Oh, 
Courtney!  Courtney!  What  will  become  of  you!  You'll 
have  no  money — for  you're  not  asking  alimony.  You'll 
only  have  to  marry  again."  Courtney  frowned  at  this  frank 
statement  of  the  problem  she  was  putting  off.  "  You  know 
you'll  have  to  marry  again,"  pursued  Helen,  "  and  it  isn't 
likely  you'll  do  as  well.  Men  don't  care  for  widows  of  any 
kind — least  of  all,  grass  widows.  They  want  a  fresh, 
unspoiled  woman." 

Courtney's  eyes  danced.  "  The  truth  from  Helen — at 
last !  " 

But  Helen  was  unabashed.  Because  she  was  taller  and 
graver  than  Courtney,  she  felt  older  and  wiser.  And  be- 
cause she  loved  Courtney,  she  felt  she  must  do  all  in  her 
power  to  avert  the  impending  catastrophe  through  this 
divorce  madness.  "  I  do  believe  you've  got  no  common 
sense  at  all !  "  she  cried.  "  You  talk  wise  enough — some- 
times. But  when  it  comes  to  acting —  Courtney,  women 
brought  up  as  we've  been  simply  have  to  be  supported. 
And  it's  our  right !  " 

"  Is  it?  "  said  Courtney. 

"  Aren't  we  ladies  ?  But  you've  never  been  poor.  You 
don't  realize  what  you've  got  to  face.  You  don't  realize 
it's  your  position  as  Richard's  wife  that  makes  everybody 
act  so  sweetly  and  respectfully  toward  you — and  that  makes 
you  feel  secure." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Courtney  gravely.  "  I  realize 
it  so  keenly  that  I'm  afraid  of  myself — afraid  I'll  be 
tempted  to  do  something  contemptible.  When  I  married, 
I  had  the  excuse  that  I  believed  I  loved  and  was  loved 
— and  it's  the  custom  for  a  man  to  throw  in  support 

432 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

with  his  love.  But  if  I  married  again — feeling  as  I 
do — I'd — "  She  flung  out  her  arms.  "  I  don't  want  to 
think  about  it!"  she  cried.  "I'll  not  do  it!  I'll  not 
do  it !  " 

Helen  could  not  understand.  And  she  was  glad  she 
couldn't,  for  she  felt  that  such  ideas,  whatever  they  were, 
did  not  make  for  feminine  comfort.  She  had  listened  im- 
patiently to  Courtney.  She  now  brought  the  conversation 
back  to  the  only  point  worth  considering.  "  But  you've  got 
to  marry,"  said  she. 

"  No !  "  Courtney  had  the  expression  of  fire  and  pur- 
pose that  makes  a  small  person  seem  tall.  "  There's  an 
alternative.  I  can  do  for  myself." 

"  Do  what? "  demanded  Helen.  She  waited  for  a 
reply — in  vain — then  went  on :  "  What-  could  you  do  that 
anybody  would  pay  for?  Besides — you,  a  lady,  couldn't 
ask  for  work.  You  don't  know  how  I  suffered  when  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  have  to  do  it.  And  you'd  suffer 
even  more — having  occupied  the  position  you  have.  What 
a  come  down !  " 

"Don't!"  commanded  Courtney.  "Helen,  you  are 
tempting  me." 

"  I'm  talking  the  sense  to  you  that  you've  so  often  talked 
to  me,"  Helen  insisted.  "  Unless  we  women  have  got 
money  of  our  own  or  a  man  with  an  income  back  of  us, 
we're —  I'd  hate  to  confess  the  truth  even  to  another 
woman." 

Courtney  nodded  slowly  several  times,  then  asked, 
"  Don't  you  think  it  ought  to  be  changed?  " 

'  Xo !  "  cried  Helen  vehemently.  "  It's  what  God  in- 
tended. The  penalty  of  being  a  man  is  to  have  to  work. 
The  penalty  of  being  a  lady,  and  refined  and  dainty  and 
untouched  by  low,  vulgar  things,  is  to  have  to  be  a  de- 

433 


pendent.  And  it's  not  such  a  heavy  penalty,,  either.  Even 
if  one  doesn't  care  much  about  the  man,  one  isn't  inflicted 
with  him  all  the  time." 

At  these  plain  truths  wrenched  by  loving  anxiety  from 
the  deepest  and  securest  of  hiding  places,  Courtney's  eyes 
danced.  She'd  have  laughed  outright,  had  not  Helen  been 
so  terribly  in  earnest — Helen  without  a  sense  of  humor. 
However  she  did  venture  to  say :  "  The  chief  equipments 
of  a  lady  are  a  stone  instead  of  a  heart  and  a  hide  instead 
of  a  skin — is  that  it?  " 

But  Helen  did  not  see  the  ironic  comment  on  her 
philosophy.  "  Well,"  she  went  on  in  her  serious,  stolid 
way,  "  I  don't  want  responsibility.  And  I  like  to  take  my 
ease — and  to  have  to  do  only  things  it  doesn't  much  matter 
if  they  go  undone.  We  women  are  different  from  men. 
Our  self-respect's  in  a  different  direction.  .  .  .  Dear,  can't 
I  do  something  to  help  you?" 

Courtney  kissed  her  penitently.  She  always  felt 
ashamed  after  poking  fun  at  Helen  whose  heart  was  so 
genuinely  good  and  kind.  "  Nothing,  thanks.  The  divorce 
must  go  on.  You  don't  understand,  Helen.  Believe  me, 
if  I  knew  that  sheer  misery  was  waiting  for  me,  as  soon 
as  I  was  free,  I'd  still  go  on." 

"  Let  me  talk  to  Richard.     I  can  do  it  tactfully." 

In  her  alarm  at  this  Courtney  caught  hold  of  Helen. 
"  If  you  did  such  a  thing,  you'd  be  doing  me  the  greatest 
possible  injury." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  dear.  I'd  not  meddle.  But — "  She 
looked  appealingly  at  Courtney  —  "  please,  dear  —  do 
let  me !  " 

"  Richard  and  I  would  both  resent  it  equally." 

"  But  what  mill  become  of  you !  " 

Her  tone  was  so  forlorn  that  Courtney  had  to  laugh. 
434 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Why,  I'm  barely  twenty-five — and  I  know  a  lot  about 
several  things — and  could  learn  more." 

"  Don't  talk  that  way !  "  cried  Helen,  tearful.  "  It 
makes  me  shiver.  It  sounds  so  coarse  and  common."  She 
looked  at  Courtney  as  if  doubtful  of  her  sanity.  "  I  can't 
make  you  out.  It  isn't  natural  for  a  lady  bred  and  born, 
as  jTou  are,  to  say  such  things." 

"  You  can't  believe  a  real  lady  could  have  ideas  of  self- 
respect?  Well,  I'll  admit  they  do  seem  out  of  place  in 
my  head — and  give  me  awful  sinkings  at  the  heart.  And — " 
There  was  a  mocking  smile  round  Courtney's  lips,  a  far- 
away look  in  her  eyes — "  Sometimes  I'm  haunted  by  a 
horrible  dread  that  I'm  merely — bluffing." 

Helen  saw  only  the  smile.  "  I'm  sure  you  are,  you  dear, 
sweet,  fascinating  child !  "  cried  she,  greatly  consoled  and 
cheered. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure ! "  warned  Courtney,  the  smile 
fading. 

But  Helen  was  delighted  to  see  that  she  said  it  half 
heartedly — that  some  effect  had  been  produced  by  the  grew- 
some  reminders  of  the  difference  between  independence  as 
a  dream  or  a  vague  longing  and  independence  in  the  grisly 
reality  of  the  working  out. 


XXVII 

AFTER  a  few  days  Courtney  asked  Helen  to  take  Win- 
chie  to  the  laboratory.  "  You  can  arrange  with  Richard  as 
to  future  visits,"  she  said.  "  And  in  talking  with  him — and 
with  me — please  remember  he  and  I  don't  exist  for  each 
other.  I  can  trust  you  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  presently  came  from  Helen  in  so  reluctant  a 
tone  that  Courtney  congratulated  herself  on  having  thought 
to  exact  the  promise. 

Winchie  said  little  about  his  father  at  the  supper  table, 
but  a  great  deal  about  a  streak  of  light  his  father  had  made" 
for  him  with  an  electrical  apparatus — "  clear  across  the 
room,  mamma — real  lightning — only  there  wasn't  any  thun- 
der— just  noise — like  when  Jimmie  snaps  the  whip  fast." 
Several  times  in  the  next  three  or  four  weeks  she  discovered 
evidence  of  visits  to  the  laboratory  in  remarks  Winchie  let 
drop;  for  he  said  nothing  direct,  having  somehow  divined 
that  the  visits  were  not  to  be  talked  about.  But  he  had  not 
the  faintest  suspicion  there  was  anything  wrong  between 
his  father  and  his  mother.  He  had  always  been  used  to 
their  leading  separate  lives;  the  mere  surface  cleavage  was 
too  unimportant  to  affect  him,  all-observant  though  he  was, 
with  his  natural  mind  which  Courtney  had  not  spoiled  by 
false  education.  And  the  parents  .of  the  only  children  he 
played  with — those  along  the  shore — were  exceeding  dis- 
creet in  discussing  the  divorce  in  the  family  circle. 

In  the  first  winter  storm  one  of  the  maples  near  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  about  the  oldest  and  finest  tree  on  the 
place,  blew  down  and  in  its  fall  destroyed  the  summer- 

436 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

house.  Courtney  was  awakened  by  the  resounding  crash. 
Before  breakfast  she,  in  short  skirt  and  close-fitting  jacket, 
went  to  see  and  to  decide  what  should  be  done.  As  she 
reached  the  scene  Dick  in  shaggy  ulster  and  cap  came  from 
behind  the  towering  mass  of  wreckage.  She  could  not  be 
certain  whether  his  ease,  so  superior  to  hers,  was  due  to  his 
having  seen  her  coming  and  having  got  ready,  or  to  abso- 
lute indifference.  "  Jimmie  told  me  what  happened,"  ex- 
plained he.  "  I  came  early,  thinking  I'd  not  be  caught 
trespassing."  He  looked  sadly  at  the  great  tree,  with  its 
enormous  boughs  sprawled  upon  the  frozen  surface  of  the 
lake.  "  Jimmie  and  I,"  said  he,  "  used  to  have  a  swing  in 
it  that  went  out  over  the  water.  We  used  to  dive  from  the 
seatboard." 

Courtney  could  see  the  swing  go  up  and  up,  high  as  the 
tree  itself,  then  a  daring  boy  release  his  hold  and  shoot 
through  the  air,  slim  and  straight,  to  plunge  into  the  lake. 
"  You'd  almost  touch  bottom  away  out  where  it's  deepest — • 
wouldn't  you?  "  she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  I've  brought  up  mud  in  my  hands  from  where  it's 
twenty  feet  deep." 

They  stood  in  silence,  in  the  presence  of  the  fallen  giant 
whose  life  had  begun  when  the  Indians  trapping  and  fish- 
ing there  were  getting  from  the  far  coast  beyond  the  moun- 
tains the  first  rumors  of  the  great  winged  boats  and  the 
white  man.  "  It  was  a  grand  tree,"  she  sighed.  "  I'll  miss 
it  as  I'd  not  miss  many  people  I'm  more  or  less  fond  of. 
...  I  remember  that  swing." 

"You  do?" 

"  One  day  my  mother  brought  me  along  when  she  was 
calling  here.  I  must  have  been  about  the  age  Winchie  is 
now.  I  had  on  red  shoes — I  remember  because  they  hurt 
terribly  and  I  didn't  dare  show  a  sign  for  fear  they'd  be 

437 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

taken  away.  You  lured  me  out  to  play — and  put  me  in 
the  swing — and  made  it  go — the  limit." 

"  I  remember  perfectly  now.     That  was  you — was  it?  " 

"  It  was.  It  was,"  replied  she.  "  You  despised  little 
girls  and  thought  you'd  scare  me  to  death." 

"  But  I  remember  you  were  game.     You  didn't  scream." 

"  I  guess  I  was  too  badly  frightened.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  mother  shrieked  when  she  saw  from  the  window 
•what  you  were  up  to?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  The  whipping  father  gave  me  beat  the  whole 
business  into  me  forever.  I  wasn't  game.  How  I  did 
howl !  " 

"  I  wish  I'd  heard !  "  She  shivered  laughingty.  "  I 
feel  now  how  I  was  suffering  when  the  swing  was  out  over 
the  water  and  high  up  among  the  boughs." 

Richard  was  looking  at  her  curiously.  "  So,  that  was 
you?  "  he  said  in  an  abstracted  way.  "  You  certainly  didn't 
look  scared.  .  .  .  Helen  tells  me  you're  planning  to  go 
East  in  the  spring  and  study  landscape  gardening.  .  .  . 
I  see  you  don't  like  her  having  told  me.  I  assure  you  it 
was  my  fault.  I  asked  her  point  blank.  She  told  me  sim- 
ply the  one  fact." 

"  It's  not  a  secret,"  said  Courtney,  and  she  went  on  to 
explain,  as  to  an  acquaintance  who  knew  nothing  of  her 
life,  "  I  used  to  go  to  college — up  at  Battle  Field — with  a 
girl  named  Narcisse  Siersdorf.  She's  made  quite  a  repu- 
tation as  an  architect.  We  were  good  friends,  and  it 
occurred  to  me  I  might  get  advice  from  her.  She's 
been  wonderfully  kind — took  an  interest  right  away. 
We're  negotiating.  I  don't  know  what'll  come  of  it. 
I've  sent  her  an  account  of  things  I've  done,  and  some 
pictures." 

He  looked  at  the  slight,  strong  figure,  at  the  small  and 
438 


delicate  face,  at  the  eyes  so  feminine  yet  for  all  that  full 
of  character.     "Are  you  in  earnest?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  got  to  be,"  replied  she. 

His  expression  showed  how  he  was  touched  by  her 
air  of  sad  thoughtfulness  as  she  gazed  across  the  glisten- 
ing level  of  ice.  "  Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "  While  noth- 
ing's been  said  about  it,  you  must  know  that  as  Winchie's 
mother " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  laugh  that  made  the  color 
flare  into  his  face.  "  So,  you  thought  I  was  hinting,  did 
you?  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  will  be  able  to  understand 
a  woman.  No — I  don't  hint." 

"  I  didn't  suspect " 

"  Be  honest !  " 

He  hung  his  head  like  a  foolish  boy. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  she  went  on,  "  I've  got  to  do  some- 
thing because,  when  I'm  free,  I  want  to  feel  free.  Maybe 
I'm  flying  in  the  face  of  nature,  but  I've  a  hankering 
for  the  same  sort  of  independence  a  man  has — not  the 
same,  but  the  same  sort.  ...  It  isn't  a  bit  nice,  being 
a  woman — if  one  wakens  to  the  fact  that  she's  in  the 
same  market — if  in  a  higher  grade  stall — with  '  those 
others.'  " 

He  looked  up  with  a  frown.  "  That's  not  the  way  to 
look  at  it,"  he  protested  with  more  than  a  touch  of  his  old- 
time  dictatorial  manner. 

"  It's  the  way  I  look  at  it,"  replied  she,  quietly.  That 
reminder  of  his  tyranny,  added  to  his  unconsciously  con- 
temptuous suspicion  that  she  was  hinting  for  alimony,  had 
stirred  all  her  latterly  latent  antagonism  to  him — made  her 
doubt  the  sincerity — or,  rather,  the  thoroughness  of  the 
change  in  him.  She  began  to  move  away.  "  I  must  go  tell 
Jimmie  what  to  do  about  this  tree." 

439 


"  Please — not  just  yet/'  he  said,  red  and  embarrassed. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  taking  that  tone.  And  I'll  admit 
you're  right,  though  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  deny  it.  Still, 
it's  not  your  fault  that  you  were  brought  up  in  the  custom- 
ary way " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  reminded  of  that,"  she  interrupted, 
rather  bitterly.  "  In  spite  of  all  I've  been  through — and 
of  the  certainty  that  unless  I  free  myself,  I'll  have  to  go 
through  it  again — I'm  having  a  constant  fight  against  my 
cowardice."  Her  face  changed  in  an  instant  from  grave  to 
gay.  "  I'm  saying  and  doing  all  sorts  of  things  to  make 
it  impossible  for  me  to  back  down.  I  guess  telling  you  was 
one  of  them." 

"  You're  not  going  to  make  any  move  until  spring — 
toward  this  architect  friend,  I  mean?  " 

"  I've  no  reason  to  think — at  least  not  much  reason — 
that  she'll  take  me." 

"  Meanwhile — why  not  perfect  yourself  in  the  trade  you 
already  almost  know?  " 

"What's  that?" 

"  I'm  going  to  pay  a  man  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
a  month  to  help  me  at  the  laboratory — exactly  the  work  you 
did — and  he'll  do  it  no  better,  if  as  well." 

Courtney  flushed  with  pleasure  at  this  praise.  "  Real- 
ly? "  she  said.  "  You  mean  that?  " 

His  expression  forewarned  her  he  was  about  to  touch 
on  the  impossible  subject.  "  I  can't  comprehend,  now  that 
it's  over,"  said  he,  "  how  I  was  such  an  ass  as  to  stick  to 
the  notion  that  women  haven't  brains  when  I  had,  right 
before  me,  proof  to  the  contrary." 

"  Meaning  me  ?  "  said  she  with  amused  eyes. 

"  Meaning  you,"  replied  he  with  a  laugh.  Then  seri- 
ously, "And  if  you'll  let  me  say  so,  the  reason  I  blame 

440 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

myself  for  everything  is,  I've  seen  that  my  stupid  ignorance 
of  you  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently.  "  We  were 
both  brought  up  very  stupidly  for  marriage.  But  then 
— who  isn't?  No  wonder  marriage  is  successful  only  by 
accident." 

"  What  a  confession  the  proverb  is,"  said  he,  " — that 
people  have  to  be  married  once,  before  they're  fit  to  be 
married." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  at  least  we've  had  our  experience, 
and  can  be  glad  we  got  it  young  enough  for  it  to  be  useful. 
But  I  must  get  to  work."  And  she  nodded  and  went  briskly 
up  the  snow-drifted  lawns.  Not  until  afternoon,  while  she 
was  overseeing  the  sawing  up  of  the  tree,  did  his  unfin- 
ished offer  come  back  to  her.  Had  he  left  it  unfinished 
because  she  had  not  encouraged  him  to  go  on  or  because  he 
had  repented  of  the  impulse  ?  Probably  the  latter,  she  de- 
cided ;  at  any  rate,  even  if  he  had  urged,  she  could  not  have 
accepted.  "  He'd  be  sure  to  misunderstand.  Men  and 
women  always  do  misunderstand  each  other — "  She  smiled 
at  herself — "  that  is,  they  don't.  They  learn  by  experience 
that  there's  always  the  motive  behind,  in  everything  that 
crosses  the  sex  line.  He'd  not  realize  this  was  an  excep- 
tion." There  she  mocked  herself  again.  "  At  least,  I  think 
it'd  be  an  exception.  I'm  not  quite  sure  I'd  not  be  doing 
it  out  of  cowardice — to  get  him  where  I  could  recover  him 
if  I  lost  my  nerve  and  had  to.  Our  dependence  makes  us  so 
poor  spirited  that,  though  we  know  we  don't  want  a  certain 
man,  we  like  to  have  him  where  we  could  use  him,  '  in 
case.'  " 

Several  stormy  days,  with  no  communication  between 
house  and  laboratory.  On  the  first  bright  afternoon,  she 

441 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

and  Winchie  were  entering  the  grounds  after  a  walk  to 
Wenona  and  back,  through  the  still,  dry  air,  charged  with 
sunbeams,  air  like  a  still,  dry  champagne,  strong  and  subtle. 
They  came  upon  Dick  clearing  the  snow  from  the  direct 
path  between  laboratory  and  gates.  His  trousers  were 
tucked  into  high  boots  and  he  was  in  flannel  shirt  sleeves. 
As  they — or,  rather,  as  Winchie — paused,  he  leaned  on  his 
shovel  and  laughed — at  the  fun  that  is  merrier  than  any 
joke — the  fun  of  being  healthily  alive  from  center  to  far- 
thest tip.  The  sunshine  was  brilliant  on  the  unsullied 
surface  of  the  snow,  on  the  ice-encased  branches,  and 
on  those  three  health-flushed  faces.  "  Just  been  to 
the  doctor's,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  he  to  the  boy  who  was 
as  ruddy  as  a  rooster's  comb,  as  smooth  and  hard  as 
marble. 

"  No,"  declared  Winchie,  taking  him  seriously,  "  I  never 
had  a  doctor  in  my  life." 

This  was  a  good  enough  excuse.  Dick  and  Courtney 
became  hilarious  over  Winchie's  earnestness.  As  Winchie 
had  begun  to  play  with  the  snow  his  father's  labor  had 
piled  high  on  either  side  of  the  reappearing  path,  Courtney 
did  not  resist  Dick's  overtures  toward  conversation — about 
the  skating,  the  air,  the  healthfulness  of  a  hard  winter,  the 
ravages  of  the  storm  throughout  the  neighborhood.  "  I 
see,"  said  he,  "  the  old  maple's  gone.  You  did  clear  it  up 
in  a  hurry.  There's  not  a  sign  of  its  ever  having  been  in 
existence — or  the  summerhouse  either." 

At  that  the  color  poured  into  her  cheeks — the  deeper, 
fierier  red  of  acute  embarrassment.  When  he  realized  what 
he  had  said — which  he  instantly  did — he  did  not  color  but 
became  pale.  "  I'm  glad  it  was  destroyed,"  he  said,  "  glad 
not  a  trace  of  it  remains — anywhere.  If  I  believed  in 
omens  I'd  look  on  the  whole  incident  as  a  good  omen — the 

442 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

landmark  of  the  Vaughan  home  that  seemed  so  strong  and 
wasn't — the  summerhouse  that  was  a  constant  reminder — 
both  gone — and  the  place  where  they  were  is  clear — is  ready 
for  the  new  and  better  things." 

She  was  listening  with  her  head  low.  "  Thank  you," 
she  said,  in  a  choked  voice.  "  Sometimes  I  think  there  isn't 
another  man  in  the  world  who'd  have  helped  me  as  you 
have." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  cried  he,  cheerfully.  "  Human 
nature's  a  lot  better  than  it  pretends.  Thank  God,  very 
few  of  us  are  despicable  enough  to  live  up  to  our  creeds  and 
our  conventions.  .  .  .  Winchie,  you  didn't  know  you  came 
very  near  losing  your  father  yesterday.  He  almost  blew 
himself  up." 

Winchie's  eyes  grew  big.  "  I'd  like  to  have  seen,"  said 
he,  excitedly.  "  Jimmie  says,  when  you  do  go,  it'll  be 
straight  up  through  the  roof  and  high  as  the  moon." 

"  It  all  came  of  my  working  without  an  assistant,"  Dick 
explained  to  Courtney.  "  I've  got  one  coming  from  Balti- 
more, as  I  think  I  told  you  the  other  day.  But  he  can't 
get  away  just  yet.  I  wish  you'd  consider  my  offer." 

She  felt  no  embarrassment.  His  tone  prevented;  it  was 
businesslike,  and  polite  rather  than  friendly. 

"  I  need  some  one  badly — some  one  I  shan't  have  to 
teach.  You  like  the  work.  You  need  the  experience.  A 
few  weeks  of  the  sort  of  thing  I'd  put  you  at  now  would 
fit  you  for  a  place  in  a  first-class  laboratory."  A  little 
constrainedly — "  I  know  why  you  hesitate.  But  I  assure 
you,  that's  foolish.  What  I'm  proposing  will  not  interfere 
with — with  our  plans  for  freeing  each  other.  It's  purely 
business — and  good  business  for  you  as  well  as  for  me." 

She  looked  directly  at  him  for  the  first  time.  "  You're 
quite  sure  you'd  not  misunderstand?  " 

443 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Quite/'  he  assured  her. 

She  still  hesitated.  "  I  want  to  accept/'  she  confessed, 
"  for  business  reasons.  But  I've  an  instinct  against  it." 

He  smiled  with  good-humored  mockery.  "  A  vanity, 
you  mean." 

She  colored  guiltily,  though  she  also  was  smiling.  Her 
nervous  fingers  were  pulling  the  ice  from  a  branch  of  a  bush. 

He  noted  that  Winchie,  rolling  up  a  huge  snowball,  had 
got  safely  out  of  hearing.  "  Just  a  vanity,"  he  went  on. 
"  Well — pitch  it  overboard.  I  make  you  a  business  propo- 
sition. I  need  you.  You  need  the  experience.  I  hope 
you'll  accept.  I  can  well  afford  to  pay  you  what  I'll  pay 
Carter.  He's  tied  up  until  January — perhaps  a  little  later. 
If  you'll  accept,  I  can  accomplish  a  lot  this  winter.  If  not, 
I'll  be  nearly  helpless." 

Thus  it  naturally  and  easily  and  sensibly  came  about 
that,  a  few  months  later,  at  the  very  moment  when  Judge 
Vanosdol  was  signing  the  decree  of  divorce,  Dick  and  Court- 
ney were  in  the  laboratory,  their  heads  touching  as  they 
bent  over  a  big  retort,  heedless  of  the  strong  fumes  rising 
from  its  boiling  and  hissing  contents.  The  heat  subsided. 
The  compound  slowly  cleared — a  beautiful  shade  of  green 
instead  of  the  black  they  hoped  for — and  confidently  ex- 
pected. They  looked  dejectedly  at  each  other;  she  felt 
like  weeping  for  his  chagrin. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  he,  glow- 
ering at  her.  "  Sure  you  didn't  make  a  mistake  ?  " 

Her  nerves  were  on  edge,  as  were  his.  "  That's  right!  " 
she  said,  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Suspect  me." 

"  I'm  not  suspecting  you,"  he  retorted  angrily.  "  Don't 
drag  your  sex  into  work.  You're  not  a  woman  here.  We've 
no  time  for  poodle-dog  politeness." 

444 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  don't  want  politeness,"  cried  she.  "  What  did  I  say 
that  could  possibly  make  you  think  I  did  ?  " 

"  It  was  what  you  didn't  say,"  replied  he.  "  Why 
didn't  you  answer  back?  Or  throw  the  ladle  at  me?  " 

"  I  will  next  time." 

And  there  they  both  laughed. 

Now,  she  was  free — absolutely  free — and  with  money 
enough  of  her  own  earning  to  get  her  and  Winchie  to  New 
York  and  to  keep  them  for  quite  a  while.  And  Narcisse 
Siersdorf  had  written  most  encouraging  comments  on  the 
account  of  her  efforts  at  landscape  gardening  and  on  the 
accompanying  photographs,  and  had  offered  her  a  clerk- 
ship at  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  "  as  a  starter."  Also, 
Richard,  as  an  earnest  of  his  belief  and  his  interest,  had  got 
her  an  offer  of  a  trial  position  at  twenty  dollars  a  week  in 
the  laboratories  of  the  American  Coal  Products  Company 
at  Chicago.  She  was  not  only  free;  she  was  independent. 

The  morning  after  Narcisse's  letter  came  she  saw  Rich- 
ard eying  her  curiously  several  times,  as  if  he  were  puzzling 
over  something  but  hesitated  to  question  her.  The  fourth 
or  fifth  time  she  caught  him  at  it,  she  said:  "  What  do  you 
want  to  ask  rne  ?  Have  I  made  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  No — no,  indeed,"  protested  he.  "  You  don't  make 
mistakes." 

He  had  been  extremely  polite,  no  matter  how  severely 
his  temper  was  tried,  ever  since  the  day  of  the  little  flare-up 
over  the  failed  experiment.  And  every  day  it  pleased  her 
through  and  through,  pleased  and  thrilled  her,  that  his  rea- 
son was  fear  lest  she,  perfectly  free  to  go,  should  resign 
and  quit,  if  he  did  not  behave. 

"  Then,"  she  went  on  to  him,  "  why  do  you  look  at  me 
inquiringly?  " 

29  445 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  It's  your  manner,"  replied  he.  "  You're  acting  very 
differently  to-day  from  what  you  ever  did  before." 

While  he  was  saying  it  she  divined  the  reason — the  let- 
ter from  Narcisse.  The  offer  from  the  Coal  Products  Com- 
pany had  come  several  weeks  before ;  but  that  had  been  got 
for  her.  This  position  in  New  York  was  of  her  own  getting. 
And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  like  a  full-grown 
personality  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself.  Uncon- 
sciously her  whole  outlook  upon  life  changed;  the  change 
disclosed  itself  in  her  expression,  in  her  voice,  in  her  man- 
ner. She  handed  Richard  her  patent  of  nobility,  the  letter 
from  Narcisse;  she  watched  his  face  as  he  read.  But  she 
got  no  clue  to  his  thoughts.  As  he  gave  back  the  letter 
without  comment  she  said:  "  I'm  in  the  way  to  get  rid  of 
the  reason  for  a  woman's  so  often  wishing  she'd  been  born 
a  man." 

"  I  understand,"  said  he,  and  turned  away  to  gaze  re- 
flectively out  of  the  window. 

She  went  into  the  rear  room  to  work  there.  Half  an 
hour  later  she  returned,  to  find  him  still  staring  out  over 
the  lake.  "  I've  given  him  something  more  to  think  about," 
said  she  to  herself,  with  a  sly  smile  at  his  back.  "  And  it'll 
do  him  good,  if  ever  he  starts  out  to  marry  again."  Yet 
somehow  she  was  not  fully  satisfied  that  her  guess  covered 
the  whole  of  what  he  was  thinking.  He  was  extremely 
puzzling,  this  polite,  appreciative,  carefully  businesslike 
Richard. 

She  was  impatient  to  be  gone.  She  wished  to  try  in 
longer  flight  the  new  wings  of  freedom  and  independence 
she  had  grown.  She  felt  confident  they  would  sustain  her ; 
but  she  could  not  be  sure  until  she  tried.  She  had  decided 
for  the  Siersdorf  offer.  She  liked  the  chemistry  chiefly- 
because,  working  with  Richard  at  the  explorations  of  hydro- 

446 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

gen  and  nitrogen,  she  was  moving  toward  a  definite  high 
accomplishment — the  discovery  of  a  source  of  happiness  to 
millions — a  cheap  substitute  for  coal  and  wood  that  would 
banish  that  horror  of  horrors,  cold,  from  the  lives  of  the 
poor.  But  it  would  be  quite  another  thing  to  work  at 
fabricating  new  shades  of  color  in  dyes,  new  commercial 
uses  for  the  by-products  of  coal;  she  would  be  descending 
from  scientist's  helper  to  plodder  for  a  living,  from  lieu- 
tenant of  a  Columbus  to  mate  on  a  tramp  steamer.  Not 
so,  if  she  went  into  the  Siersdorf  office. 

There  she  would  remain  artist,  worker  with  the  fine  tools 
of  the  imagination.  Also  Basil's  tastes  lay  in  that  direc- 
tion. Fancy  is  not  the  air  plant  that  idealists  pretend.  Its 
flowers  may  be  spiritual  but  its  roots  strike  deep  into  the 
physical.  It  may  need  the  sun  and  the  air  of  heaven,  but 
it  needs  the  soil  even  more.  In  the  soil  it  is  born;  by  the 
soil  it  chiefly  lives.  Courtney's  fancy  was  the  fancy  of  a 
normal  human  being  in  whom  all  the  emotions  are  healthy, 
ardent,  fully  developed.  It  had  no  long  or  difficult  task  in 
blurring  into  vagueness  whatever  marred  her  memory  of  her 
and  Basil's  romance — or  at  least  in  making  the  blemishes 
for  the  time  seem  unimportant  in  presence  of  the  rosy,  hori- 
zon-filling peak  moments  of  their  happiness.  Once  more, 
from  the  quiet  of  her  long  lonely  evenings — hardly  the  less 
solitary  for  Helen's  rather  monotonous  company — arose  the 
longings,  the  visions,  the  thrills.  She  felt  that,  in  her  young 
inexperience,  she  had  been  too  arrogant  in  her  demands 
upon  life;  she  had  asked  more  than  she  could  possibly  ex- 
pect from  a  human  love,  more  than  she  had  any  right  to 
expect.  But  now  she  was  chastened ;  her  point  of  view  was 
less  wildly  romantic.  What  would  they  not  be  to  each 
other! — once  they  were  together — and  free  from  all  con- 
straint of  moral  doubts  and  conventional  dreads.  It  was 

447 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

only  natural  that  in  their  life  of  stress  passion  should  have 
been  uppermost,  should  have  become  dominant.  It  was  hu- 
man for  Basil  to  feel  that  he  was  contending  for  even 
physical  possession  of  her — and  until  there  is  physical  pos- 
session, love  has  no  substantial  ground  to  build  upon. 

She  was  eager  to  be  off  for  New  York,  to  establish  her 
independence,  and  then  to  begin  her  real  life  on  the  endur- 
ing foundation  of  equality  and  comradeship  brightened  by 
passion  as  a  tree  is  brightened  by  its  blossoms  and  their 
perfume.  But,  eager  though  she  was,  she  could  not  deny 
her  obligation  to  remain  until  Dick's  assistant  came.  She 
knew  now  that  he  had  spoken  the  literal  truth  when  he  said 
he  needed  her  badly.  It  would  be  a  return  for  his  broad- 
minded  humanity  quite  beneath  her,  to  leave  him  in  the 
lurch — especially  when  carrying  on  his  particular  line  of 
experiments  meant  danger  if  he  had  to  do  all  the  work 
alone.  She  must  stay  until  Carter  came.  And  she  was  glad 
of  this  opportunity  to  show  him  that  she  did  appreciate 
what  he  had  done  for  her,  even  though  he  had  done  it  not 
for  her  sake  but  for  his  own — in  obedience  to  his  sense  of 
the  decent  and  the  self-respecting. 

So,  she  worked  steadily  and  interestedly  on,  just  as  if 
the  divorce  had  not  yet  been  entered  upon  the  records  of 
the  court  as  valid  and  final.  She  found  an  unexpected  addi- 
tional source  of  interest  in  studying  her  former  husband  as 
an  individuality.  It  is  always  a  novel  sensation  for  a  woman 
with  any  claim  to  physical  charm  to  find  herself  regarded 
impersonally — sexlessly.  That  is  usually  anything  but  an 
agreeable  sensation ;  every  woman  feels  the  chagrin  of  fail- 
ure when  she  sees  that  her  charms  do  not  charm — this, 
though  she  might  be  disdainful  of  and  resentful  of  overt 
tribute  to  her  physical  self.  Courtney,  however,  did  not  in 
those  peculiar  circumstances  feel  sufficiently  piqued  to  try 

448 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

to  assert  woman's  ancient  right  of  dominion  over  the  senses 
of  man.  She  could  enjoy  the  novelty  of  being  treated  like 
a  man,  and  could  study  calmly  the  man  who  was  thus  un- 
mindful of  what  is  habitually  uppermost  in  any  strongly 
masculine  nature. 

At  work  with  Richard  alone,  she  was  at  last  getting 
acquainted  with  him.  From  the  beginning  of  each  day  at 
the  laboratory  to  the  end,  she  was  receiving  a  series  of 
vivid  impressions  of  a  really  superior  man — competent,  in- 
telligent, resourceful.  He  thought  about  himself  never;  he 
could  not  be  daunted  or  baffled.  His  broad-mindedness  was 
no  longer  marred  by  the  ser.  narrowness  that  had  made 
appreciation  of  it  impossible  to  her,  to  any  woman  of  her 
sort.  He  knew  so  much;  he  carried  knowledge  so  lightly. 
It  seemed  to  her,  after  much  experience  of  "  learned  "  men, 
that  knowledge  was  chiefly  power  to  bore.  His  knowledge 
was  like  a  rapier  of  finest  steel  skilfully  used  in  his  duel 
with  his  mysterious  masked  combatant,  the  alchemist  on 
guard  at  nature's  secretest  laboratory.  She  felt  that  he  was 
a  man  out  of  a  million ;  yet  she  had  no  sense  of  embarrassed 
inferiority.  This  general  in  the  army  of  exact  science,  which 
is  the  true  army  of  progress,  was  a  democrat,  marched 
with  the  soldiers  afoot,  was  their  equal.  "  If  any  woman 
ever  does  fall  in  love  with  him,"  thought  she,  "  she  will 
worship  him.  But — he's  too  impersonal.  We  women 
want  something  smaller — not  a  sun  star,  but  a  fire  on  a 
hearth." 

Now  that  he  was  nothing  but  fellow  worker  to  her,  she 
could  look  at  him  with  the  friendly  impartiality  of  human 
being  for  fellow  being.  Piecing  together  what  she  knew 
of  his  masculine  side  and  what  she  could  now  see  latent  in 
those  strong  features,  those  intense  nervous  energies,  she 
felt  that  somewhere  there  might  be  a  woman  equal  to  con- 

449 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

centrating  upon  herself  what  went  altogether  into  the  duel 
for  nature's  secrets.  "  And  unless  she  were  a  great  woman, 
he  would  hum  her  up  like  a  match  tossed  into  a  furnace." 

This  latent  capacity  of  his  for  love  fascinated  her. 
There  were  even  moments  when  it  tempted  her — was  like 
a  challenge  taunting  her  womanhood  as  confessedly  inef- 
fectual. But  at  the  laboratory  she  was  too  busy  to  linger 
over  such  thoughts ;  and  in  her  other  hours,  there  was  house- 
hold routine  to  compel  her  attention — and  the  plans  for  the 
great  attempt. 

At  last  Carter  wrote  that  he  would  positively  come  in 
two  weeks.  "  You've  been  splendidly  patient  with  me," 
Dick  said  as  he  showed  her  the  letter.  "  I've  seen  that  you 
were  eager  to  be  gone."  As  she  murmured  a  polite  denial, 
he  repeated,  "  Yes,  eager — but  not  in  the  way  to  make  me 
uncomfortable  over  my  selfishness." 

"  I've  rarely  thought  of  it  while  I  was  down  here," 
said  she,  "  It  was  only  in  the  evenings — and  when  I  hap- 
pened not  to  sleep  very  well." 

"  It  was  natural  you  should  be  upset,"  sympathized 
Dick.  "  Who  wouldn't  be,  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  icy 
plunge  so  long?  But  you'll  like  it — and  everything'll  come 
out  all  right.  I've  discovered  that  you  have  a  lot  of  com- 
mon sense — and  that's  more  than  I  can  say  for  most  men — 
including  myself." 

Another  month,  at  the  farthest,  and  she  would  be  in 
New  York,  would  have  made  the  great  beginning!  .  .  . 
Should  she  send  Basil  word  as  soon  as  she  arrived?  Should 
she  wait  until  she  got  her  bearings  ?  She  saw  it  would  be 
wiser  to  wait.  Everything  depended  on  beginnings — right 
beginnings — and  it  would  be  the  right  beginning  for  Basil 
to  find  her  as  obviously  master  of  her  own  destiny,  as  free 
to  withhold  or  to  give,  as  was  he  himself.  Also —  Coming 

450 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

from  a  small  town  in  the  West,  she  could  not  but  feel 
strange  in  New  York,  and  look  provincial.  "  Yes,  I'll 
wait,"  she  decided,  the  instant  this  last  reason  dropped 
into  the  balance.  For,  she  had  not  the  vanity  that  under- 
estimates the  matter  of  looks  and  neglects  the  fact  that 
everyone  is  at  a  distinct  disadvantage  in  a  strange  envi- 
ronment. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  later,  there  came  a  ring  at 
the  telephone  which  was  in  Dick's  part  of  the  laboratory. 
As  these  calls  were  always  for  her,  she  rose  from  her  case 
in  the  back  room  and  went  to  answer.  It  was  Mazie — 
"  The  hotel  over  to  Fenton  wants  to  speak  to  you, 
ma'am." 

"  Connect  them,  please,"  said  Courtney,  hoping  her 
voice  had  betrayed  and  would  betray  nothing  to  the  man 
behind  her. 

Soon  came  an  operator's  voice,  and  then  Basil's.  "  I 
must  see  you !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "  I'll  come." 

"  In  your  auto  runabout — on  the  Fenton  road  to  Tippe- 
canoe — at  two  this  afternoon.  Will  that  do  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I'll  be  there.    Good-by."    And  she  rang  off. 

She  turned  from  the  telephone  with  a  glance  at  Richard. 
He  was  busy  with  the  blowpipe — no  doubt  had  not  even 
heard.  As  she  was  leaving  to  go  up  to  the  house  for  din- 
ner, she  said  to  him:  "  I'll  not  be  back  this  afternoon." 

"  All  right,"  replied  he.  "  I  sha'n't  need  you  till  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  I'll  be  here,  then,  of  course." 

He  turned  on  the  high  stool.  "  You  know,"  said  he,  with 
only  the  faintest  suggestion  of  the  unusual  in  face  and 
voice,  "  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  see  anyone  you 
wish,  at  your  own  house." 

451 


She  flushed  guiltily.  But  her  composure  instantly  re- 
turned, and  she  went  on  toward  the  door,  casting  about  for 
a  reply. 

"  I've  no  desire  to  interfere,"  continued  he.  "  But — 
Jimmie  went  to  Fenton  on  an  errand  yesterday,  and  he 
happened  to  tell  me  he  saw  at  a  distance  a  man  who  looked 
enough  like  Gallatin  to  be  his  twin.  If  you  should  be  seen 
— you  know  how  they  gossip  here.  You  could  send  the  boy 
and  Helen  over  to  Wenona  for  the  afternoon.  Pardon  my 
suggesting  these  things.  It  occurred  to  me  you  might  not 
realize  how  closely  you're  watched  by  everybody,  since  the 
divorce." 

She  stood  in  the  outer  doorway,  trying  to  conceal  her 
agitation  and  trying  to  reflect. 

"  I  appreciate  you'd  rather  see  him  elsewhere — and  I'd 
prefer  you  did,  too.  But  your  son  has  his  rights — don't 
you  think  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Courtney.     "  I'll  see  him  at  the  house." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Richard.  And  he  resumed  his  care- 
ful mixing  of  two  powders  in  a  small  brass  mortar. 

She  went,  returned,  stood  where  she  could  see  his  profile. 
"  You  give  me  your  word  of  honor  you'll  not  interfere  with 
him  in  any  way  ?  " 

Dick  smiled  without  suspending  work  with  the  pestle. 
"  Certainly,"  said  he.  "  On  my  honor  I'll  not  leave  this 
room  until  you  telephone  me  that  I  may."  His  smile  broad- 
ened into  a  laugh  that  made  her  extremely  uncomfortable, 
though  it  was  pleasant  enough. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  cared  about  me  or  him — or  any- 
thing but  your  chemistry,"  she  said  in  self-defense.  "  I 
asked  simply  as  a  precaution.  I  felt  I  owed  it  to  him  and 
to  the  boy." 

"  I  laughed — you'll  pardon  me — because  he's  such  a 
452 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

shallow  pup.     I  never  think  of  you  two  that  I  don't  think 
of  Titania  and  Nick." 

As  he  tossed  this  lightly  over  his  shoulder,  she  was 
hopelessly  at  a  disadvantage.  She  was  scarlet  and  shaking 
with  anger.  No  return  thrust  occurring  to  her,  she  flung  a 
furious  glance  into  his  back  and  departed,  with  about  all 
the  joy  out  of  her  anticipations  of  the  meeting.  Instead 
of  telephoning  from  the  house,  she  ascended  to  the  apart- 
ment over  the  laboratory  and  by  the  direct  wire  there  got 
the  Phibbs  Hotel  in  Fenton.  A  few  minutes,  and  Basil  was 
at  the  other  end.  "  Come  to  the  house  here,  instead,"  said 
she.  "  At  the  same  time — two  o'clock." 

A  silence,  then  his  voice,  "  No.     You  come  over." 

"  I  can't  do  it.  And  I'd  not  ask  you  if  I  weren't  sure. 
I'll  explain  when  I  see  you." 

"  There's  an  especial  reason  why  I  want  you  here," 
urged  he. 

"  And  there's  a  more  especial  reason  why  I  want  you 
here." 

"  And  there's  an  even  more  especial  reason  why  I  must 
see  you  here,"  insisted  he.  "  It's  very  unsatisfactory,  talk- 
ing over  the  telephone,  with  people  probably  listening  all 
along  the  wire.  I'll  come  to-morrow — or  late  this  after- 
noon. But  you  come  here  first." 

"  No — really,  I  mustn't,"  she  declared.  "  Don't  you 
trust  me?  Don't  you  know  I'd  not  ask  it,  if  it  weren't 
perfectly — all  right  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that,  but —  I  can't  talk  about  it.  ...  I'll 
come."  And  from  his  tone  she  knew  he  had  been  decided 
by  the  fear  that  she'd  think  him  afraid.  And  then  she 
realized  that  she  had  made  her  remark  because  she  counted 
on  its  appeal  to  his  vanity — and  the  thought  acted  upon  her 
enthusiasm  not  unlike  a  douche. 

453 


XXVIII 

SHE  was  on  the  drive-front  porch  with  Lizzie,  making 
plausible  pretense  of  rearranging  the  boxed  evergreens. 
She  heard  the  carriage  turn  in  at  the  gates,  though  they 
were  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house.  As  the 
horses  rounded  the  bend  she  looked.  But  she  waited  on 
Lizzie,  who  was  not  slow  to  cry  out  with  delighted  sur- 
prise, "  Why,  there's  Mr.  Gallatin !  " 

Courtney  said,  "  Do  run  in  and  see  that  the  sitting 
room's  straight."  Thus,  she  was  alone  when  he  descended. 
She  saw  him  through  a  mist  and  the  hand  she  gave  him 
was  cold,  was  trembling.  In  the  doorway,  she  said  hastily 
in  an  undertone:  "  Helen  and  Winchie  are  at  Wenona — 
Richard  at  the  laboratory.  You've  stopped  unexpectedly 
on  your  way  south — for  an  hour  or  two." 

"  I  understand,"  said  he.  "  I  can't  trust  myself  to  look 
at  you.  My  love !  My  love !  " 

She  flashed  up  at  him  a  glance  radiant  with 'her  florid 
fancies  of  anticipation.  "  Come  into  the  house,"  she  con- 
trived to  say  in  an  ordinary  tone. 

As  they  went  along  the  hall,  side  by  side  and  talking 
for  effect  on  passible  listeners,  she  saw  that  he  had  dressed 
as  carefully  as  a  bridegroom.  No  more  carefully  than  she 
had  dressed,  so  far  as  she  dared;  still,  it  struck  her  as 
amusing — as  suggestive  of  hollowness.  And  the  voice 
;which,  as  she  heard  it  in  fancy  during  those  weeks  of  wait- 
ing, had  been  so  moving,  so  magical — what  a  commonplace 
yotce  it  was,  and  how  very  like  affectation  its  Eastern  in- 

454 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

tonations  sounded.  "  That  nasty  remark  of  Richard's !  " 
she  thought.  "  How  weak  of  me  to  let  such  a  fling  affect 
me."  They  entered  the  sitting  room;  he  quickly  closed 
the  door,  caught  her  hands,  looked  at  her  from  head  to 
foot.  "  Courtney !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  love  you !  I  love 
you !  " 

She  thrilled,  lifted  her  eyes — dropped  them.  A  chill 
stole  over  her.  She  had  to  resist  an  impulse  to  draw  her 
hands  away.  He  looked  really  handsome,  was  outwardly 
all  her  imagination  had  been  picturing — and  more.  Yet — 
What  was  the  matter?  What  was  lacking?  Why  could 
she  see  only  the  weakness  and  coarseness — the  qualities  that 
had  stood  out  the  night  he  was  drunk  and  the  next  after- 
noon when  she  was  battling  against  his  vanity  and  jeal- 
ousy? "  It's  my  nerves,"  she  decided.  "  I'm  under  a 
greater  strain  than  I  realize."  When  he  kissed  her,  she 
turned  her  head  so  that  his  lips  touched  her  cheek.  And 
immediately  she  released  her  hands.  "We  must  be  care- 
ful," she  apologized. 

"  Why  ?     You're  free." 

"  Yes — but — "     She  paused. 

"  Why  do  you  act  so  strange — so  distant  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  confessed.  She  felt  ashamed  of 
herself  that  she  was  visiting  on  him  the  consequences  of 
her  own  folly  in  having  let  her  imagination  overleap  all 
the  bounds  of  probability  in  forecast.  "  I  don't  know," 
she  repeated.  "  Nerves,  I  suppose.  Or,  perhaps  it's  a 
bad  cold.  I've  felt  one  coming  on  all  day.  This  morning 
I  forgot  to  close  the " 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes,  indeed,"  she  protested.     "  Let's  sit  down." 

She  took  a  chair  near  the  table.  He  was  thus  com- 
pelled to  the  sofa,  several  feet  away.  "  We  ought  to  have 

455 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

met  where  we   first  arranged/'   said   he,   constrained,   em- 
barrassed. 

"  I  have  to  be  careful.     You  forget  Winchie." 

An  uncomfortable  silence,  then  he:  "  You've  been  free 
thirty-nine  days.  Yet  you  have  not  written  me." 

"  I  explained  to  you " 

"  Didn't  you  feel  like  writing  ?  " 

"Of  course.     But " 

"  But— what?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  be  independent  as  well  as  free." 

He  looked  at  her  gloomily.  "  Is  that  what  you  call 
love  ?  " 

She  forced  a  smile  and  nodded. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I've  come  for  ?     For  you." 

She  felt  herself  drawing  together,  shrinking  away  from 
him.  "  For  me?  "  she  echoed  vaguely. 

"  To  marry  you." 

She  was  not  looking  at  him ;  but  she  was  seeing  his  face 
as  it  was  when  swollen  and  distorted  by  drink.  She  an- 
swered hastily,  "  Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  I  can't  marry  till — till  I'm  independent.  I've  been 
making  a  lot  of  plans.  I'm  going  to  work  early  next 
month." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  he  cried.  "  Courtney,  do  you  real- 
ize you've  not  yet  said  a  single  word  of  love?  What  is 
the  matter  ?  Is  it  our  meeting  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  understand  it  my- 
self." Why  was  her  mind  so  perverse  ?  Why  did  it  thrust 
at  her  the  things  it  was  unjust  to  remember,  generous  and 
necessary  to  forget?  Why  was  she  critical,  aloof,  instead 
of  responsive  and  generously  glad?  She  went  on:  "  It  may 

be  the  cold.     My  nose  feels  queer,  and " 

456 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  We  must  marry,  right  away/'  he  insisted,  frowning 
upon  her  lack  of  seriousness.  "  We've  been  separated  too 
long  already." 

That  seemed  to  her  to  explain.  But  it  did  not  remove. 
She  said,  "  Not  until  I'm  independent." 

"  But  that  means  years — years !  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  protested  she.  "  Not  the  kind  of  inde- 
pendence I  mean.  I  simply  want  to  be  sure  I  could  earn 
my  living  if  it  were  necessary." 

"  But  it  isn't  necessary.  And  life  is  so  short,  dearest. 
And  at  most  we'll  have  few  enough  years  of  happiness." 

"  I  know,"  said  she,  surprised  that  these  truths  did 
not  move  her  in  the  least,  nor  his  looks,  his  tones,  so 
charged  with  entreaty  she  such  a  short  time  ago  would 
have  found  irresistible.  "  But  I've  thought  it  out,  and  I 
realize  everything  depends  on  my  getting  that  feeling 
of  independence.  I'll  not  risk  again  what  I've  been 
through." 

"  You  know  very  well,  that  couldn't  happen.  As  for 
your  working,  why,  dear,  unless  a  woman's  been  bred  to 
making  a  living,  it's  almost  impossible  for  her." 

"  Nevertheless  I   must  try." 

"If  you  loved  me,  you'd  not  talk  like  this,"  cried  he, 
bitterly. 

Instead  of  protesting,  she  became  thoughtful.  "  Do 
you  really  think  so  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  wonder  if  that's 
true." 

"  Certainly  not  "  retreated  he,  alarmed.  "  We  love  each 
other.  But  your  way  of  acting  and  talking  has  upset  me. 
I  ought  not  have  come  here.  We  should  have  met  over 
at  Tippecanoe." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  see  my  point  of  view,  Basil." 

"  I  do,  but  it's  a  mere  notion.  A  very  fine  notion,"  he 
457 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

hastened  to  add,  though  he  could  not  make  his  tone  other 
than  grudging,  "  but  foolish." 

"  It  was  my  dependence  that  put  me  in  such  a  fright- 
ful position  with  Richard.  And " 

"  Courtney,"  he  interrupted,  between  anger  and  appeal, 
"  please  don't  repeat  that  comparison  of  what  you  were  to 
him  and  what  you  and  I  are  to  each  other.  It — hurts  me, 
and  it's  not  fair." 

"  Would  you  promise  to  love  me  always  just  as  you 
do  now?  " 

"  I  certainly  would.     I  shall." 

She  lowered  her  eyes.     Her  heart  sank. 

"  Wouldn't  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  she.  "  How  can  I — or  anyone — honestly 
say  how  he  or  she'll  feel  about  a  person  they  don't  know 
through  and  through — a  month  ahead — let  alone  a  year — 
ten  years — twenty?  You  know  that's  true,  Basil.  You're 
not  honest  with  yourself — or  with  me." 

He  was  silent,  was  watching  her  with  sullen,  suspicious 
eyes. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  went  on,  "  that  love — real  love — 
ought  to  make  you  careful.  If  we  were  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
without  experience  or  intelligence  or  anything  -but  hazy, 
rosy  emotions " 

"  You  and  I  never  will  agree  about  love,"  he  inter* 
rupted,  impatiently.  "  But  that's  a  small  matter.  The 
only  point  is  that  we  love  each  other.  Love's  like  a  rose, 
Courtney.  Tear  it  apart  to  see  what  it's  made  of  and  you 
lose  the  rose  and  have  only  withered  petals." 

"  Yes — one  kind  of  love.  But  is  it  the  kind  to  build 
one's  life  upon  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  argue  with  you.  Have  your  way,  if 
you  will.  You'll  soon  get  enough  of  work — of  this  fantastic 

458 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

idea  of  independence,  as  you  call  it.  As  if  I'd  not  be  too 
afraid  of  losing  your  love  not  to  respect  your  rights  and 
consider  you  always  and  in  every  way." 

"  But  suppose  /  ceased  to  love  you — and  were  depen- 
dent on  you " 

"  I  know.  I  know.  Don't  let's  argue  it.  Go  on  with 
your  plans.  The  sooner  you  begin,  the  sooner  you'll  see 
how  foolish  you  are.  You  don't  appreciate  what  work 
means — especially  for  a  woman — the  toil,  the  humiliations, 
the  downright  miseries — that  cost  youth  and  looks  and 
health." 

It  still  further  depressed  her  to  see  how  swiftly  his 
words  depressed  her — how  appalling  was  the  lift  and 
spread  of  the  mountain  she  had  been  dreaming  of  remov- 
ing with  one  shovel  and  one  pair  of  feeble  hands.  "  In- 
stead of  discouraging  me,"  cried  she  with  some  anger  in 
her  reproach,  "  you  ought  to  be  encouraging  me.  I  should 
think  you'd  be  afraid  to  have  a  woman  about  who  might  be 
your  wife  for  the  sake  of  a  living — might  be  making  a 
hypocrite  of  herself  and  a  fool  of  you." 

He  winced ;  she  saw  he  was  thinking  of  Richard.  "  That 
could  never  happen  with  us!  "  cried  he. 

"  Never  is  a  long  time." 

He  was  squirming  in  irritation  and  impatience — and 
was  obviously  afraid  she  would  suspect  the  thoughts  he  yet 
could  not  conceal.  "  Please  don't  insist  on  discussing  this, 
Courtney.  Go  ahead.  Try  your  scheme.  Work!  I  never 
heard  of  a  woman  at  work  who  wouldn't  do  almost  anything 
to  escape."  . 

She  forced  a  laugh.  "  Then  if  I  fail  and  send  for  you, 
you'll  know  what  it  means — and  fly  in  the  other  direction." 

"  Not  I,"  replied  he  with  an  overenergy  that  failed  in 
its  purpose  of  hiding  the  discomfort  her  suggestion  had 

459 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

caused  him.  "  I  tell  you,  we  love  each  other.  That  makes 
everything  different."  He  laughed.  "  Work !  Thank 
God,  you  and  I  don't  have  to  work.  We  can  love." 

She  sat  with  eyes  down  and  fingers  idly  matching  the 
corners  of  her  little  handkerchief.  What  a  difference  be- 
tween work  as  a  dream  and  work  in  the  doing! — between 
imagining  the  glories  of  self-respecting  independence  and 
making  the  coarse,  cruel  struggle  step  by  step  up  to  those 
glories — between  work  as  a  pastime  and  work  as  a  neces- 
sity. How  unpractical  she  had  been !  She  sighed.  "  I 
wish,"  said  she,  "  I'd  never  realized  that  to  be  secure  a 
woman  must  be  independent.  But — now  that  I've  realized 
it,  I've  got  to  go  on." 

He  put  on  an  expression  of  pretended  deep  and  re- 
spectful interest  that  made  it  hard  for  her  to  hide  her 
amusement.  "  What  are  your  plans  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  sometime.  I  don't  feel  in  the  humor 
now." 

"Something  vague — eh?"  And  she  saw  that  he  as- 
sumed she  was  only  pretending,  after  all.  A  superior 
man-to-woman  smile  had  replaced  his  look  of  nervousness. 

She  waited  until  he  had  got  himself  comfortably  set- 
tled down  into  this  agreeable  assumption,  then  said  tran- 
quilly, "  No.  I  have  the  place  promised  me." 

He  rose  impatiently.  If  she  had  needed  proof  as  to  his 
real  opinion  of  women — his  conviction  of  their  inferiority, 
his  expression  would  have  given  it.  Yes,  his  opinion  was 
the  same  as  Richard's — always  had  been,  as  she  could  now 
see,  recalling  remarks  he  had  made  from  time  to  time.  The 
same  prejudices  as  Richard;  only,  Basil  had  been  less 
courageous — less  honest.  Those  prejudices  irritated  her  in 
Richard;  in  Basil  they  seemed  laughable.  But  he  was  get- 
ting his  impatience  and  scorn,  his  exasperation  against  her 

460 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

poor  womanish  folly  somewhat  under  control.  "  Now, 
Courtney,  can't  you  realize — "  he  began  in  a  teacher-to- 
infant  tone.  Then,  a  new  thought  struck  him.  He  broke 
off  abruptly.  "  No — go  ahead.  It's  just  as  well  you 
should  have  the  lesson,"  said  he. 

"  Should  learn  how  dependent  I  am  on — some  man  ?  " 
"  How  unfitted  you  are  to  be  anything  but  a  lady." 
"  I   know  that  already,"  replied  she   forlornly.      "  Or, 
rather,    I'm   not    fitted   to   be    either    dependent   or   inde- 
pendent." 

"  Then  why  not  be  sensible,  and  marry  me  at  once?  " 
She  did  not  answer.     She  could  not  tell  him  the  truth; 
she  would  not  tell  him  a  lie.    Anyhow,  she  wasn't  sure  what 
she  did  think. 

"  You  will — won't  you,  dear  ?  You'll  not  waste  time 
that  we  might  give  to  love  and  happiness  ?  "  And  he  anx- 
iously watched  her  face — with  its  sweet  feminineness  that 
gave  him  hope,  its  mystery  and  its  resoluteness  that  made 
him  uneasy. 

"  It's  a  temptation,"  she  said,  absently.  She  saw  herself 
trying  for  independence  and  failing — losing  heart,  self- 
respect  —  growing  cynical  through  hardship  —  marrying 
Basil  to  escape —  Just  there,  she  suddenly  surprised  her 
elusive  real  self,  saw  deep  into  the  inmost  workings  of 
her  own  mind — saw  that  she  did  not  care  for  Basil  Galla- 
tin — that  she  had  really  been  pretending  to  herself  that 
she  loved  him  because  he  was  the  alternative,  the  refuge, 
should  her  try  for  independence  fail! 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  let's  do,"  she  heard  him  saying. 
"  Let's  get  married.  Then  you  can  take  that  place,  what- 
ever it  is.  With  your  future  secure  no  matter  what  hap- 
pened, you'd  work  better  and  would  be  much  more  likely 
to  succeed." 

30  461 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

The  appeal  of  this  subtle  proposal  awakened  her  to  her 
peril.  It  must  be  now  or  never ;  she  must  speak  the  truth 
now,  or  lose  the  courage  and  the  strength  to  speak  it. 
"  Basil,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  I  don't  love  you." 

He  stared. 

"  I've  been  lying  to  myself  and  to  you.  I  don't  love 
you." 

"  That's  not  true !  " 

"  I  never  did  love  you,"  she  replied — for,  with  the  one 
truth  out,  the  other  forged  to  the  front  and  made  its  amaz- 
ing self  visible.  "  No — I  never  did  love  you."  How  plain 
it  all  was,  now!  How  strange  that  she  should  for  even  an 
infatuated  moment  have  believed  this  was  the  man  she 
needed,  the  man  who  needed  her — not  words  alone,  and 
kisses  and  thrills,  but  real  need — for  mind  and  heart  and 
body — all  that  the  three  have  to  give  and  long  to  give  and 
to  receive. 

He  stood  before  her,  looking  down  in  graciously  smiling 
remonstrance.  "  That's  a  little  too  much,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"  You  can't  have  forgotten  all  we've  been  to  each  other — 
those  hours  of  happiness — those  moments  of  ecstasy — my 
love — my  Courtney " 

There  was  color  in  her  cheeks,  an  answering  tenderness 
in  the  eyes  that  lifted  to  his.  "  No,  I've  not  forgotten. 
And  as  I  had  to  learn  and  as  there's  no  other  way  for 
woman  or  man  to  learn  but  experience,  I  don't  regret.  But 
we  were  both  in  love  with  love — not  with  each  other.  And 
what's  more,  we  never  could  be."  Now  that  she  had  flung 
away  pretense,  its  veil  of  illusion  over  her  sight  dropped; 
she  was  seeing  him  as  she  looked  at  him — not  his  qualities 
that  repelled,  not  his  qualities  that  attracted,  but  the  whole 
man — was  seeing  him  as  we  see  only  those  toward  whom 
we  are  amiably  indifferent.  She  was  thinking,  "  What  a 

462 


nice,  well-bred  man  he  is,  but  how  small."  Not  bad,  not 
grossly  sensual,  not  mean — not  at  all  mean,  but  the  reverse. 
Just  small. 

He  began  to  recover  from  the  stupefaction  of  the  con- 
vincing tones  of  her  denial  of  love.  He  was  hastily  don- 
ning the  costume  of  pose  that  is  correct  for  such  occasions. 
She  beamed  genially  upon  him  and  said,  "  Now,  don't  work 
yourself  up,  my  dear  Basil.  Sit  down  over  there,  and  let's 
talk  quite  quietly — and  naturally." 

It  is  impossible  for  anyone  with  any  sense  of  humor 
whatever  to  indulge  alone  in  paroxysms  of  emotion  before 
a  tranquil  spectator.  Basil  stopped  rolling  his  eyes  and 
dilating  his  nostrils,  and  seated  himself,  in  no  very  good 
humor.  Her  tone  was  not  pleasant.  It  would  have  been 
perfectly  proper  for  a  man  to  use  to  a  woman.  It  was 
impertinent,  in  weaker  sex  to  stronger.  "  Oh,  I'm  all 
right,"  said  he,  crossly,  as  he  seated  himself.  "  But  you'd 
better  look  out  about  those  ideas  of  yours.  They  have  a 
terribly  unfeminizing  effect  on  women." 

"  Yes — I  guess  they  do,"  replied  she.  A  puzzling, 
alluring  combination  of  seriousness  and  humor  she  looked 
as  she  sat  there  opposite  him,  her  elbows  on  the  arms  of 
the  chair,  her  chin  resting  upon  the  backs  of  her  linked 
fingers,  her  eyes  fixed  gravely  yet  somehow  quizzically 
upon  him.  "  Have  you  ever  thought  of  our  life  together?  " 
asked  she.  "  Of  what  we'd  do — between  times  ?  " 

"  Between  times?  " 

"  No  one — not  even  the  most  ardent  lovers — can  make 
love  all  the  time.  There  haven't  been  any  '  between  times  ' 
in  our  life  heretofore,  because  of  the  circumstances.  But 
when  we  were  together  without  interruption — with  no  ex- 
citement or  interest  of  danger — with  no  stimulus — with  just 
ourselves  —  what  would  we  do  '  between  times  '  ?  —  and 

463 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

there'd  be  more  and  more  '  between  times  '  as  we  got  used 
to  each  other." 

This  uninviting  but  obviously  truthful  picture  sobered 
and  exasperated  him.  "  Haven't  thought  about  it,"  he  con- 
fessed. "  I  haven't  gone  into  details.  But  I  know  we'll 
be  happy.  You'll  step  into  the  position  you  are  entitled  to 
and  I  can  see  that  you  get." 

"  The  social  position,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Certainly.    And  we'll  enjoy  ourselves." 

He  could  not  possibly  have  said  anything  that  would 
have  shown  more  clearly  the  width  and  depth  of  the  gap 
between  them — how  little  he  understood  her,  how  little  they 
had  in  common. 

"  You'll  be  tremendously  popular,"  he  said  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  I  don't  think  J  could  be 
happy,  wasting  my  life,  scattering  myself  among ~a  lot  of 
inane  pastimes."  She  laughed  a  little.  "  You'd  be  hor- 
ribly disappointed  in  me,  Basil." 

"  I'll  risk  it.  They'll  be  crazy  about  you  in  the  East." 
He  nodded  proud,  confident,  self-complacent  encourage- 
ment. "I'll  risk  it !  " 

She  met  his  look  with  a  quiet  final  "  But  I'll  not."  In 
another  mood  his  proposal,  his  manner,  his  very  poor  sort 
of  pride  in  her  would  have  amused  her.  But  as  she  lis- 
tened, she  remembered  all  she  had  believed  about  this  man, 
all  her  idealizing  of  his  mind  and  character.  And  she 
grew  sad  and  sick.  This  small  man! 

He  planted  himself  firmly  before  her.  "  Now,  look 
here,  Courtney.  It's  useless  for  you  to  talk  that  sort  of 
thing.  You  don't  mean  it.  And  I'm  not  going  to  give  you 
up.  You're  my  wife,  Courtney.  The  only  possible  excuse 
for  what  you  did  was  that  you  loved  me." 

464 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  she,  "  my  only  excuse  is 
that  I  was  swept  away  by  my  craving  for  love — for  what 
Richard  in  our  brief  honeymoon  had  taught  me  to 
need " 

"  For  God's  sake !  "  he  cried.  "  How  can  you  say  such 
things?  " 

"  Because  they  are  the  truth,"  she  answered  with  quiet 
dignity;  and  he  felt  ashamed  of  himself  without  knowing 
why.  "  Basil,  you  don't  love  me  as  I  really  am.  You  find 
me  shocking.  And  I  don't  love  you  as  you  really  are.  I 
find  you — "  She  hesitated. 

"  Go  on.     Say  it." 

But  what  would  be  the  use?  The  truth,  all  of  it,  any 
literal  part  of  it  would  only  hurt  him,  would  not  awaken 
him.  By  birth  and  by  breeding  and  by  the  impassable 
limitations  of  his  mind  he  was  incapable  of  learning  or 
appreciating  the  truth,  was  wedded  forever  to  the  morality 
that  makes  truth  a  vice  and  lies  a  virtue.  So,  she  evaded. 
"  I  find  you  are  like  your  dress,"  answered  she,  her  eyes 
and  her  light  tone  taking  the  sharp  sting  off  her  words. 
"  A  charming  style  of  your  own  but  strictly  conventional 
withal." 

He  did  not  fully  appreciate  this  faint  hint  of  the  truth, 
but  he  understood  enough  to  be  irritated.  "  You've  been 
doing  too  much  of  what  you  women  call  thinking.  And 
you've  become  like  all  women  who  try  to  think." 

"  All  women  think,"  said  she.  "  But  very  few  of  them 
tell  the  man  what  they  think — until  they've  got  him  safely 
married.  You  ought  to  thank  me  for  being  candid  in  ad- 
vance." 

He  scowled  at  her  smile.  "  I'm  not  going  to  give  you 
up,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  You'll  come  out  of  this  mood.  And — dearest — 

465 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

remember  that,  in  spite  of  your  disdain,  the  old-fashioned 
woman — tender,  simple,  loving — is  far  sweeter  than  these 
thinkers — gets  more  pleasure — gives  more." 

"  A  baby's  sweeter  than  a  grown  person,"  replied  she, 
refusing  to  be  serious.  "  But,  Basil,  the  time  has  about 
passed  when  even  a  woman  can  stay  on  a  baby — though 
most  of  the  men  and  women  pretend  it  isn't  so,  and  a  good 
many  of  them — like  you  and  Helen — get  angry  if  the 
truth's  forced  on  you.  At  any  rate,  /  can't  be  a  baby  any 
more.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  what  would  happen  if  I  married 
you?  " 

The  look  that  accompanied  her  abrupt  question  was  so 
penetrating,  so  significant  that  he  paled.  "  I  don't  want  to 
hear  any  more  of  your  truths  that  aren't  true  at  all,"  he 
cried. 

"  I  see  you  know  what  would  happen.  The  same  thing 
again." 

"  Courtney ! —     Good  God !  " 

"  The  same  thing  again.  As  long  as  my  craving  for 
real  companionship  was  unsatisfied,  I  couldn't  be  content. 
The  same  delusion  that  made  me  fancy  I  loved  you  would 
trap  me  again — or,  perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  delusion  but 
really  the  man  I  needed — the  man  who  needed  me.  A 
mirage  isn't  a  delusion,  you  know.  It's  an  actuality  that 
we  mislocate.  I'd  hunt  on — and  on — through  the  desert  for 
my  oasis — until  I  found  it." 

He  had  not  taken  his  fascinated  gaze  from  her 
dreamy  face,  her  eyes  of  unfathomable  emerald.  "  Do 
you  mean  that? "  he  said  huskily.  "  No — you  can't. 
But  you  must  not  say  those  things,  Courtney — 
you  really  mustn't.  You'll  make  me  afraid  of  you. 
As  it  is,  I  fear  I'll  have  a  hard  time  making  myself 
forget" 

466 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  forget.  And  I've  told  you  the 
exact  truth  because  I  want  you  to  realize  how  unsuited 
we  are  to  each  other." 

He  walked  up  and  down  in  violent  agitation.  "  I  don't 
understand  it,"  he  muttered.  "  Has  some  one —  Courtney, 
do  you  love  some  other  man?" 

"  I  do  not.     I've  seen  no  one  practically  but  Richard." 

He  halted  with  a  jerk.  "Richard!"  His  eyes  nar- 
rowed with  jealous  suspicion.  "  Has  he  been  trying  to  win 
you  back?  " 

She  smiled  at  the  idea,  so  at  variance  with  the  facts. 
"  He  treats  me  like  another  man." 

"  Then  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Every  day.     I  work  at  the  laboratory  with  him." 

"  What!  "  Basil  stared,  dropped  to  the  nearest  chair 
dumfounded. 

"  Why  not?  .  .  .  Don't  be  so  pitifully  conventional, 
Basil.  This  is  the  twentieth  century,  not  the  Dark  Ages. 
He  knows  you're  here  now — asked  me  to  see  you  here  rather 
than  where  it  might  cause  gossip." 

As  he  recovered,  his  mind,  seen  clearly  in  his  features, 
slowly  took  fire.  "  And  you  pretended  you  were  telling 
me  the  truth !  "  he  cried,  starting  up.  Everything  else — 
doubt  of  her — doubt  of  himself — all  was  forgotten  in  the 
torrent  rush  of  jealousy.  "  And  I,  poor  fool,  believed  you! 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  the  truth  is.  You've  lost  your  nerve. 
You  love  me  as  you  did.  But  you  haven't  the  courage  to 
break  off  here.  And  you're  sinking  back  to  what  you  were 
when  I  found  you.  I  might  have  known !  A  woman  always 
belongs  to  the  nearest  man."  He  was  raging  up  and  down 
the  room.  "  I've  come  for  you.  I'll  not  go  without  you. 
You're  mine — not  his.  I'll  show  you!  I'll  show  you!" 
And  he  snatched  his  hat  from  the  sofa  and  rushed  out. 

467 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

For  the  moment  motion  was  beyond  her  power.  She 
saw  him  dart  along  the  veranda,  past  the  windows,  take  the 
path  to  the  Smoke  House.  Terror  galvanized  her.  She 
flew  to  the  private  telephone,  rang  long  and  vigorously,  put 
the  receiver  to  her  ear.  A  pause;  she  was  about  to  ring 
again  when  Richard's  voice  came:  "  Yes — what  is  it?  " 

"  He's  coming  to  you,  Richard,"  she  gasped.  "  I  an- 
gered him.  He's  wild  with  rage.  Promise  you  won't  let 
him  in." 

"  I  can't  do  that."  Richard's  voice  was  calm  and 
natural. 

"  Your  promise  to  me !  " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  He  doesn't  amount  to  much,  if 
you'll  pardon  my  saying  so." 

"  I'm  coming  as  quickly  as  I  can.  Don't  see  him, 
Richard.  Remember  Winchie !  " 

"  Come  if  you  like.  But  I  suspect  you'll  only  aggra*- 
vate  him.  Believe  me,  I  can  take  care  of  him.  Here  he 
is  now " 

She  dropped  the  receiver,  ran  out  of  the  house  and 
along  the  path. 


XXIX 

As  Vaughan  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned,  Gallatin 
flung  open  the  door  on  which  he  had  just  rapped  a  loud 
challenge.  He  scowled  at  Vaughan;  Vaughan  eyed  him 
with  the  expression  that  simply  looks  and  waits.  It  was 
evident  Basil  expected  immediate  combat,  was  ready  for 
it — therefore  altogether  unready  for  the  form  of  encounter 
less  easy.  Dick's  tranquillity  completely  disconcerted  him. 
He  advanced  a  step,  with  an  aggressive,  "  Well,  here  I  am." 

"  So  I  see,"  replied  Dick. 

"  You've  been  thinking  it  was  cowardice  that  made  me 
go  away.  But  it  wasn't.  And  I've  come  to  face  it  out 
with  you.  You  had  your  chance  for  her.  You  lost  her. 
I  purpose  to  keep  her." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Dick.  "  She's  free.  Her  affairs  are 
none  of  my  business."  And  he  sat  down  at  the  long  table 
under  the  windows,  glanced  at  the  electric  furnace  as  if 
about  to  resume  work. 

"  But  she  isn't  free !  "  cried  Gallatin.  "  You've  not 
freed  her,  though  she  has  the  right  to  it.  You're  holding 
on  to  her  through  the  boy." 

Dick  bent  over  the  white  crystals  in  the  platinum  tray 
on  the  shelf  of  the  furnace. 

Gallatin,  exasperated,  waved  his  fists.  "  I  demand  that 
you  free  her !  If  she  were  free,  she'd  come  with  me,  for 
she  loves  me." 

Dick  took  a  metal  rod  from  the  case  and  began  push- 
ing the  crystals  this  way  and  that  carefully. 

"  She  loves  me,  I  tell  you !  " 
469 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

Without  pausing  or  looking  round  Dick  said:  "  If  you 
say  that  again — I'll  begin  to  believe  it  isn't  so.  There's 
no  accounting  for  tastes — especially  for  tastes  feminine. 
But — "  He  did  not  finish;  over  his  face  drifted  a  slight 
smile  more  eloquent  against  Basil's  deficiencies  than  the 
fiercest  stream  of  epithet. 

"  I've  won  her,"  taunted  Gallatin,  in  wild  fury,  yet  as 
if  restrained  by  an  invisible  leash.  "  I've  got  her  heart. 
You  might  as  well  release  the  rest."  As  Dick  seemed  now 
quite  absorbed  and  unconscious  of  his  presence,  he  advanced 
still  nearer.  "  By  God,  you  shall !  "  he  cried.  "  She  be- 
longs to  me,  and  I'm  here  to  maintain  my  rights  at  any 
cost." 

Vaughan  laid  down  the  long  rod  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
liberate precision  and  care,  turned  slowly  toward  him.  His 
long  handsome  face  was  of  a  curious  transparent  pallor. 
His  rather  deep-set  gray-blue  eyes  looked  coldly  and 
cruelly  at  his  one-time  guest  and  partner.  "  You  evi- 
dently don't  understand,"  said  he.  "  There  are  times  when 
one  must  either  ignore — or  kill." 

Basil  sneered,  "  Well  ? "  said  he,  with  intent  to 
draw  on. 

"  I  have  been  choosing  to  ignore.  At  first  it  would 
have  given  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  kill  you.  Now — 
you  are  to  me  much  like  the  cur  that  barks  and  snaps  at 
passers  by."  He  rose.  "  You've  come  here  to  try  to  make 
a  vulgar  scandal.  You'll  not  succeed.  You  have  nothing 
to  lose.  I  can't  give  you  your  deserts  without  hurting  my 
son.  So — "  Dick  paused,  seemed  to  be  reflecting. 

"You  hide  behind  him — do  you?  "  sneered  Basil.  In 
his  frenzy  he  felt  that  one  or  the  other  must  die  then  and 
there  or  he  himself  would  be  forever  dishonored. 

Dick  apparently  had  not  heard.  In  an  abstracted  way 
470 


THE   HUNGRY   HEA&T 

Le  said,  to  himself,  not  to  Gallatin,  "  Yes,  I  think  that  will 
do."  Again  there  was  a  pause,  he  thinking,  Gallatin  held 
silent  and  expectant  by  his  expression.  Suddenly  Dick  said 
sharply,  "  Yes — that  will  do."  He  moved  the  ladder  to 
the  south  wall,  mounted;  he  took  from  the  high  top  shelf 
a  jar  of  heavy  glass,  about  one  third  full  of  dark  red  pow- 
der; he  descended  with  it.  "  Close  that  door  and  lock  it," 
he  ordered. 

Basil,  from  habit  of  association  with  him  as  assistant, 
moved  to  obey.  Hand  on  knob  and  about  to  swing  the 
door,  he  hesitated,  turned.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  When  you  lock  that  door,"  replied  Dick,  "  I  shall 
empty  what's  in  this  jar  into  the  bowl  of  water  there,  and 
in  a  few  seconds  we  shall  both  be  dead." 

Basil  shrank;  a  shudder  ran  visibily  over  his  frame. 

"  I  could  kill  you  without  killing  myself,"  continued 
Dick,  "  and  cover  the  scandal  with  the  pretense  of  accident. 
It  would  serve  you  right,  but — somehow  it  strikes  me  as 
cowardly.  So — lock  the  door." 

Basil  was  no  coward;  but  he  had  grown  yellow  with 
fear.  His  hand  now  dropped  nervously  from  the  knob. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  Dick  sharply.  "  There's  no 
time  to  lose.  I  think  she's  on  the  way  here." 

"  She'll  understand — and  kill  herself." 

"Why  not?     Helen  will  take   care   of  Winchie." 

Basil's  gaze  wandered  round,  in  search  of  another  ex- 
cuse. He  braced  himself,  cried  defiantly,  "  I  refuse !  " 

"  Very  well."     Dick  set  the  jar  on  the  table.     "  Then 

g°-" 

"  You  think  I'm  a  coward.     But  it's  not  that." 
Dick  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  I  know  you're  a  cow- 
ard.     Everyone  is.      I'm   as   well   pleased   that  you   don't 

471 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

accept.  I've  no  wish  to  die,  particularly  for  such  an  ab- 
surd, stagy  notion  of  honor.  But  I  will  not  have  a  scan- 
dal  " 

Just  there  Courtney  dashed  in,  her  expression  so  dis- 
heveled that  it  gave  her  the  air  of  being  disheveled  in 
dress.  Her  glance  darted  from  Richard  leaning  calmly 
against  the  table  and,  in  blouse  and  cap,  looking  like  a 
handsome  workingman,  to  Basil  in  his  fashionable  English 
tweeds,  standing  shamefaced  and  irresolute  near  the  door 
— so  near  that  she  had  brushed  him  as  she  entered.  On 
Basil  her  gaze  rested  like  a  withering  blight.  Her  eyes 
flashed  green  fire;  her  every  feature  hurled  at  him  the 
scorn  that  despises.  "  You  shabby  coward !  "  she  said,  her 
voice  low  and  threatening  to  break  under  the  weight  of  its 
burden  of  fury.  "  You  who  come  here  and  try  to  ruin 
my  child  and  me  for  your  vanity !  " 

"  Courtney !  "  he  pleaded,  not  daring  to  lift  his  eyes. 
"  I  love  you.  I  cannot  give  you  up." 

"  Love !  You  don't  know  what  it  means !  You  weak 
vain  thing!  You  found  you  couldn't  have  me  on  equal 
terms.  So  you  thought  you'd  degrade  me — compel  me." 
She  turned  on  Richard.  "  And  you,  too !  "  she  blazed. 
"  If  you  were  a  man  you'd  kill  him — you'd  kill  us  both — 
with  some  of  your  chemicals  there — and  protect  Winchie 
by  saying  it  was  an  accident." 

"  Absurd,"  said  Vaughan  with  an  indifferent  shrug.  His 
arms  were  folded  upon  his  broad  chest. 

Trembling  and  blazing,  she  went  up  to  him.  "  Look  at 
me ! "  she  cried,  her  hands  on  her  surging  bosom,  her  eyes 
glittering  insanely  up  at  him.  Every  instinct  of  prudence, 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  itself  had  succumbed  under 
the  surge  of  elemental  passion,  of  frenzied  shame  that  she 
should  have  lowered  herself  to  such  a  man  as  this  Basil 

472 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Gallatin.  "  This  body  of  mine,"  she  said  in  a  voice  of  ter- 
rible calm,  "  it's  been  his — that  thing's — do  you  hear?  He 
has  had  me  in  his  arms — me — your  wife — the  mother  of 
your  boy — he — that  creature  quaking  there.  And  I  have 
kissed  him  and  caressed  him  and  trembled  with  passion 
for  him  as  I  never  did  for  you.  .  .  .  Now,  will  you  kill 
us?" 

He  did  not  move.  But  slowly  the  veins  and  muscles  of 
his  face  tightened,  pushed  up  against,  strained  against  the 
ghastly  whiteness  of  his  skin.  And  slowly  his  eyes  lighted 
with  the  fires  of  a  demoniac  fury  that  made  hers  seem  like 
a  child's  weak  hysteria.  She  gazed  at  him,  fascinated. 
Then,  with  a  gasp,  she  braced  herself  and  waited  for  the 
frightful  death  that  look  of  his  signaled.  But  she  did  not 
flinch,  nor  shift  her  gaze  from  his.  To  Gallatin,  paralyzed, 
watching  them  with  eyes  starting  and  lips  ajar,  it  seemed 
an  eternity  while  they  stood  thus  facing  each  other  in 
silence.  Then,  as  slowly  as  that  expression  on  Richard's 
face  had  come  it  departed,  like  a  fiend  fighting  inch  by 
inch  against  being  flung  back  into  the  hell  from  which  it 
had  issued  at  the  call  of  her  dreadful  taunts.  The  face 
remained  deathly  white ;  but  those  were  Richard  Vaughan's 
own  eyes  that  gazed  down  at  the  small,  delicate  face  of  the 
woman,  in  them  a  look  that  filled  her  with  awe,  made  her 
ashamed,  gave  her  the  impulse  to  sink  down  at  his  feet 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  No,  Courtney,"  Richard  said,  infinite  gentleness  in  his 
tone.  "  I'm  neither  god  nor  devil.  I — all  three  of  us — 
will  do  to-day  what  to-morrow  we'll  be  glad  we  did.  One 
can  always  die.  But  living  again,  once  one's  dead — that's 
not  so  simple." 

There  fell  silence.  She  stood  before  him,  bosom  still 
heaving  but  eyes  down.  Vaughan  turned  to  Gallatin  with 

473 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

a  courtly  politeness  like  his  grandfather's.  "  Don't  you 
think  you'd  better  go — for  the  present  at  least  ?  " 

Gallatin,  who  had  been  awed  also,  hesitated.  He  looked 
at  Courtney;  his  jaws  clenched  and  he  fixed  sullen,  de- 
vouring eyes  on  her.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  her  alone,"  said 
he  aggressively. 

"  That's  for  her  to  decide/'  said  Richard. 

Courtney  lifted  her  head  to  refuse.  Then  it  occurred 
to  her  that,  by  talking  with  Basil,  she  might  settle  the 
whole  business  for  good  and  all.  With  a  curious  deference 
she  looked  inquiringly  at  Richard.  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, began  pushing  the  tray  into  the  furnace.  She  let  her 
eyes  rest  on  Basil,  said  "  Yes — that's  best.  Come  on." 
She  went  out  of  the  laboratory,  Basil  following  her.  Rich- 
ard closed  the  door  behind  them.  At  the  edge  of  the  clear- 
ing she  halted,  wheeled  upon  him.  "  Well !  "  she  began, 
her  voice  as  merciless  as  her  eyes. 

He  was  a  pitiful  spectacle.  His  feature  were  working 
in  a  ferment  of  many  unattractive  emotiops — jealousy, 
pique,  fear  that  he  was  ridiculous,  wounded  vanity,  desire 
to  regain  with  her  the  ground  he  felt  he  must  have  lost. 
"  You  see  now,  Courtney/'  he  said,  aggressive  yet  plead- 
ing, too,  "  he  doesn't  care  a  rap  about  you." 

"  Well  ?  "  she  repeated.  Her  tone  was  much  softer ; 
her  nerves  were  calming,  and  her  temper  was  yielding  to 
her  sense  of  proportions.  Also,  the  man  looked  weak  and 
shallow  and  ridiculous — not  worth  the  while  of  a  great  emo- 
tion. Just  small.  "What  of  it?"  she  asked. 

He  scowled  in  angry  embarrassment  at  her  expres- 
sion which  neither  suggested  nor  encouraged  tragedy. 
"  I  never  heard  of  people  acting  as  we've  acted  to-day !  " 
he  cried. 

"  But  no  doubt  they  often  do,"  replied  she.  "  Every- 
474 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

body  doesn't  act — all  the  time — as  if  he  were  in  a  novel 
or  a  play,  or  thought  he  was." 

"  You  can  respect  him  after  this  ?  " 

Her  eyes  had  the  expression  a  man  least  likes  to  see 
in  a  woman's  when  she  is  looking  at  him.  "  Don't  you?  " 
said  she. 

He  reddened,  and  his  eyes  shifted.  Presently  he  said 
humbly,  "  I — I  am  sorry  for  what  I  did,  I  was  crazy  with 
jealousy.  I'm  not  myself — not  at  all." 

She  felt  the  truth  of  this  at  once.  "  And  I'm  sorry  for 
the  tilings  I  said  to  you  and  to  him.  I  was  crazy  with 
rage." 

He  lifted  his  head  eagerly.  "  I  knew  you  didn't  mean 
them,  dear." 

Her  brow  darkened.  It  was  annoying  that  the  man 
couldn't  realize;  for  such  as  she  now  knew  him  to  be  to  as- 
pire to  her  seemed  impertinence.  "  Basil,"  she  said,  "  it's  all 
over  between  us.  Don't  let  your  vanity  deceive  you.  And 
don't  force  me  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you.  Be  content 
with  knowing  what  I  don't  think." 

"  Be  careful !  "  he  cried  angrily.  "  I'm  not  the  man 
to  stand  and  beg — even  for  you." 

"  That's  good,"  said  she  pleasantly.  "  Then — we  can 
part  here  and  now."  She  glanced  up  at  the  windows  of 
the  apartment.  "  You've  got  your  traps  up  there  still. 
Hadn't  you  better  let  me  send  Jimmie  to  help  you  pack 
them?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  he,  haughtily.  "  I'll  be  obliged 
if  you  will." 

She  put  out  her  hand.     "  Good-by,  Basil." 

He  clinched  his  fists  in  vanity's  boyish  anger.  "  You 
can  think  of  that  apartment,  and  have  no  feeling?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

475 


THE  HUNGRY  HEART 

"  None,"  declared  she. 

"  I'll  not  believe  it.     You  couldn't  be  so  unwomanly." 

Her  look  forecast  a  sarcasm.  But  before  she  spoke  it 
changed  to  one  that  was  soft  and  considerate.  She  felt 
that  she  was  responsible.  True  he  had  posed  as  some- 
thing far  superior  to  his  reality;  but  it  was  an  honest 
fraud,  deceiving  himself  first  and  most  of  all.  She  felt  to 
blame  for  having  been  taken  in — felt  repentant  and  apolo- 
getic toward  him.  "  Let's  not  quarrel/'  she  urged.  "  Don't 
be  harsh  with  me.  I  know  you'll  find  love  and  make  some 
woman  very,  very  happy — one  that  is  sympathetic  and 
comes  up  to  your  ideals  of  womanhood."  She  put  out  her 
hand  again,  and  friendly  and  winning  was  the  smile  round 
her  wide  mouth,  in  the  eyes  under  the  long,  slender  brows. 
"  Please,  Basil."  He  hesitated.  "  Don't  be  harsh.  You 
know  you  don't  love  me  any  more  than  I  love  you.  What's 
the  use  of  pretenses  ?  Why  not  part  sincerely  ?  .  .  .  Please, 
Basil." 

His  hand  just  touched  hers  and  his  angry  eyes  avoided 
her  pleading  glance.  "If  you'll  send  Jimmie,"  he  said. 
And  with  a  stiff  bow  he  moved  in  great  dignity  along  the 
path  to  the  apartment  entrance.  He  went  even  more  slowly 
than  dignity  required,  for  he  confidently  expected  she 
would  come  to  her  senses  when  she  saw  he  had  indeed 
reached  the  limit  of  endurance  of  her  trifling.  Richard  had 
shown  he  wouldn't  take  her  back — cared  nothing  for  her. 
Where  then  could  she  turn  but  to  him?  And  all  that 
vaporing  about  independence  was  —  just  vaporing.  A 
woman  was  a  woman,  and  he  knew  women.  So,  he  walked 
slowly  to  give  her  a  good  chance.  But  no  call  came — not 
though  he  lingered  over  opening  the  door  and  made  a  long 
pause  elaborately  to  wipe  his  clean  boots  on  the  mat.  He 
did  not  look  until  he  could  do  so  from  the  security  of  the 

476 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

sitting-room  windows.  She  was  not  in  sight.  Had  she 
followed  him  softly?  He  went  into  the  hall,  glanced  down 
the  stairs.  Not  there !  She  had  gone !  .  .  .  She  meant 
what  she  said;  she  had  cast  him  off.  There  was  no  room 
for  doubt — she  jhad  cast  him  off.  .  .  .  He  heard  a  step, 
rushed  to  the  door.  It  was  Jimmie,  come  bringing  his 
overcoat  and  gloves,  and  prepared  to  do  the  packing.  She 
had  really  cast  him  off. 

"  God !  "  he  muttered.  "  What  a  contemptible  position 
that  puts  me  in !  "  And,  for  the  moment  at  least,  he  hated 
her.  If  he  could  only  revenge  himself — in  some  perfectly 
gentlemanly  way,  of  course.  Once  that  day  vanity  had 
lured  him  clean  over  the  line  into  most  ungentlemanly  con- 
duct; his  face  burned  from  the  sting  of  her  remembered 
denunciations — the  sting  of  truth  in  them.  If  he  could 
devise  a  gentlemanly  way — something  that  would  convince 
her  he  had  made  all  that  agitation  simply  because  he 
felt  that,  as  a  gentleman,  he  in  the  circumstances  must 
go  to  any  lengths  to  keep  faith  with  her.  Yes,  that 
would  be  a  handsome  revenge — and  would  save  his  face, 
too. 

He  gave  Jimmie  the  necessary  directions  and  resumed 
his  brooding.  He  searched  his  brain  in  vain.  He  could 
contrive  no  way  of  escape;  he  would  have  to  leave  that 
place  like  a  whipped  dog — yes,  a  whipped  dog.  Spurned 
by  Vaughan — spurned  by  Courtney 

A  step,  and  the  rustle  of  a  skirt.  His  eyes  gleamed. 
"I  thought  not!"  he  muttered  exultantly.  "Well,  I'll 
teach  her  a  lesson  she'll  never  forget." 

He  turned  his  back  to  the  door,  stood  at  the  window, 
looking  out  and  puffing  nonchalantly  at  his  cigarette.  The 
step,  the  rustic  were  on  the  threshold.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Mr.  Gallatin " 

31  477 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

He  wheeled  to  face  Helen.  His  confusion  was  equal  to 
hers.  "  Ah — Miss  Helen — I — I—  "  he  stammered. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  she  asked.  There  was  a  charm- 
ing blush  in  her  sweet,  beautiful  face,  and  her  honest 
dark  eyes  showed  how  perturbed  she  was. 

"  No  indeed — no  indeed,"  he  protested. 

"  Courtney  sent  me " 

"  Courtney  sent  you ! "  he  exclaimed  in  amazement. 

"  She  told  me  all  about  it,"  Helen  hastened  on.  "  She 
asked  me  to  let  you  know  that  she  had  told  me — how  you 
and  Richard  have  had  a  bitter  falling  out  over  the  work — 
and  that  you're  going  away,  not  to  come  back." 

One  look  into  those  eyes  was  convincing;  Helen  believed 
what  she  was  saying. 

"  She  thought  perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  help  you  about 
the  packing.  Can  I  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  stop  while  Jimmie  is 
doing  it.  I  don't  want  to  leave  without  saying  good-by 
to  you." 

All  the  roses  fled  from  Helen's  cheeks.  "  Yes — cer- 
tainly," she  murmured. 

"You'll  excuse  my  being  somewhat  confused?  The 
truth  is  I'm  very  much  upset." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  dreadfully  I  feel,"  said  Helen. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  and  Richard — "  She  paused.  Her 
glance  stirred  him  like  an  angel  face  in  a  drunkard's 
dream — her  face  earnest,  grieved,  sympathetic,  unable 
to  credit  anything  so  dreadful,  so  wicked  as  a  parting  in 
hate. 

"  Quite  sure.  It's — final.  Please,  let's  not  talk  about 
it.  It's  all  so — so  revolting." 

In  presence  of  those  clear,  noble  eyes  of  hers,  the  sor- 
didness  of  his  "  romance  "  now  once  more  began  to  stand 

478 


out.  What  a  mess!  No  wonder  he  had  taken  to  drink.  If 
it  had  been  Helen  and  the  kind  of  love  she  inspired — 
"But  you  and  I  will  always  be  friends — won't  we?"  he 
said  to  her. 

Her  eyelids  dropped  and  he  saw  her  bosom  fluttering. 
"  I  hope  so,"  she  said  so  low  he  scarcely  heard.  She  was 
pale  now,  and  drooping.  "  Though  I'm  afraid — when  you 
get  away  off  there,  you'll  forget  me  very  soon." 

His  heart  smote  him  as  he  looked  at  that  tall,  voluptuous 
figure,  at  that  lovely  face,  so  regular,  so  pure.  Here  was  a 
woman,  a  real  woman,  and  she  would  have  loved  him — per- 
haps did  love  him.  "  I  know  I'm  unworthy  of  a  thought 
from  you  who  are  so  good  and  pure,"  he  said.  "  But  your 
kindness  to  me  has  helped  me.  And  God  knows,  I  shall 
need  help."  Oh,  that  it  had  been  his  lot  to  anchor  to  this 
strong,  white  soul !  How  much  nobler  than  the  finest  pas- 
sion was  a  love  centering  about  the  sweet,  old-fashioned 
ideals.  What  a  haven  those  arms,  that  bosom  would  be ! 
He  felt  dissolute  and  sin-scarred  as  only  a  vain  young  man 
can  feel  those  dread  but  delightful  depravities. 

"  You  must  not  despair,  Basil,"  came  in  Helen's  soft 
voice,  like  oil  upon  his  wounds.  And  it  touched  him  to  see 
how,  maidenly  shy  though  she  was,  she  yet  could  not  resist 
the  appeal  of  this  opportunity  to  try  to  do  good.  She 
went  on,  "  It's  always  darkest  before  dawn,  and  the  more 
rain  falls  the  less  there  is  to  fall." 

These  words  seemed  like  heavenly  wisdom  delivered  by 
a  messenger  of  light.  He  sighed. 

"  You'll  come  out  all  right — and  will  escape  from  that 
— that — whatever  it  is — "  Helen's  cheeks  modestly  colored 
— "  and  be  happy  with  some  good  woman  who  is  worthy 
of  you." 

She  looked  so  sad,  so  beautiful  that  before  he  knew  it 
479 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

he,  ever  sympathetic  with  women,  had  said,  "  Some  woman 
like  you,  Helen." 

She  turned  away.  He  saw  that  her  emotions  were  mak- 
ing her  tremble.  How  she  loved  him!  What  a  prize  such 
a  love  would  be — and  how  chagrined  Courtney  would  feel 
— Courtney  the  vampire  woman  who  had  tried  to  destroy 
him,  and  thought  she  had  succeeded — and  was  gloating  over 
his  misery.  "If  we'd  had  the  chance,  Helen,  how  happy  we 
could  have  made  each  other !  But  I  mustn't  talk  of  that." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  she,  with  bold  shyness.  "  I  know 
that  for  some  reason  we  can  never  be  anything  more  to 
each  other.  But  it's  been  a  happiness — "  earnestl}",  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  of  the  Homeric  Juno  and  in  her  voice 
young  and  honest  and  sympathetic — "  a  real  happiness  to 
feel  that  the  best  of  you — the  part  that's  really  you — found 
something  to  like  in  me." 

He  thrilled.  Here  was  a  woman!  And  a  woman  who 
appreciated  him.  He  wondered  how  he  could  have  lingered 
under  a  malign  spell  when  such  beauty  of  soul — and  body, 
too — was  his  for  the  asking.  "  Helen !  "  he  cried.  And 
all  his  wounded  heart's  longing  and  all  his  wounded  vanity's 
suffering  gave  energy  to  his  cry.  He  took  her  hand;  he 
put  his  arm  round  her.  Her  cheek  touched  his.  How  cool 
yet  warm  she  was !  How  lovely  and  sweet !  And  the  un- 
sullied, untouched  down!  How  fresh!  Except  her  male 
relatives,  no  doubt  no  man  but  himself  had  ever  kissed  her — • 
"  Helen — Helen !  God  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  refuse  this 
moment  of  pure  happiness." 

She  gently  drew  away.  "  Oh,  Basil,"  she  sobbed. 
"  And  I  had  said  no  man  should  ever  kiss  me  until —  But 
you — it  seems  different.  You  are  so  noble — so  pure 
minded."  Her  eyes  gazed  into  his  with  a  trustful  adora- 
tion that  thrilled  him. 

480 


"  Helen — do  you  love  me?  "  he  cried. 

Her  honest  eyes  opened  wider.  "  Would  I  have  let  yom 
touch  me  if  I  didn't?  " 

"  Yes — I  know  that !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  pure  you 
are!  It's  like  heaven  after  hell." 

She  gazed  on  into  his  eyes.  A  faint  flush  overspread 
her  pale  cheeks.  She  kissed  him.  "  I  love  you,  Basil," 
she  said,  gravely.  Then  all  at  once  the  color  surged  wave 
on  wave  over  her  brow,  her  cheeks,  her  neck.  She  hung 
her  head,  slowly  drew  away  from  his  detaining  vibrating 
arms.  There  is  a  time  for  lighting  a  fire;  there  is  a  time 
for  leaving  it  to  burn  of  itself.  Helen  had  by  the  guidance 
of  feminine  instinct  hit  upon  exactly  the  right  instant  for 
drawing  back.  She  released  herself,  avoided  his  touch  just 
when  passion  having  captured  his  imagination  swept  oa 
to  the  conquest  of  the  flesh.  At  the  edges  of  her  lowered 
eyes  appeared  two  tears  to  hang  glistening  in  the  lashes. 
From  her  bosom  rose  a  sigh,  soft,  suppressed  but  heart- 
breaking. 

The  bright  flame  was  leaping  in  his  eyes.  "  You  noble, 
splendid  woman ! "  he  cried,  as  his  glance  leaped  from 
charm  to  charm — from  delicate,  regular  features  to  sump- 
tuous yet  girlish  figure.  "  What  a  jewel — in  what  a 
casket !  You  appeal  to  the  best  there  is  in  me — only  to  the 
best.  If  I  become  a  man  again,  it  will  be  through  you." 
And  sincerity  rang  in  his  voice;  for,  the  fire  of  high  re- 
solve to  be  a  good  man,  to  be  worthy  of  this  exalted  woman- 
hood, was  burning  in  his  blood.  "  Helen — will  you  help 
me?  I've  sinned — you  never  will  know  how  dreadfully. 
But  I  love  you." 

Her  answer  was  a  beautiful  shaft  of  the  love  light  from 
her  now  wonderful  eyes. 

"  Helen — will  you  marry  me  ?  " 
481 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

From  head  to  foot  she  trembled.  All  her  color  fled, 
leaving  her  face  whiter  than  the  milk-white  skin  of  her 
voluptuous  neck  and  shoulders.  "  I — love — you,"  she  said 
simply. 

"  Then  you  will?  Say  you  will,  Helen.  I  cannot  trust 
myself  to  go  away  without  your  strength  to  help  me." 

"  I  will,  Basil." 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  in  hers  as  he  rever- 
ently kissed  her  hands.  He  had  a  sense  of  peace,  of  sin 
forgiven,  of  joyous  return  to  the  fold  of  honor  and  re- 
spectability. And  her  heart  was  overflowing  with  love,  with 
gratitude  to  him  and  to  God. 


XXX 

RETURNING  to  the  house  after  full  two  hours,  she  burst 
excitedly  in  upon  Courtney,  who  was  at  her  easel  in  the  up- 
stairs sitting  room.  Courtney  had  by  much  experimenting 
found  that  of  her  several  possible  indoor  occupations  paint- 
ing was  far  the  best  sedative  for  mind  and  nerves.  The 
girl's  face,  exultant  with  pride,  exalted  with  love,  gave  her 
a  shock;  for,  only  complete  triumph  could  have  so  roused 
those  regular,  chastely  cool  features  from  their  wonted  re- 
pose. She  had  on  impulse  sent  Helen  to  Basil  in  vague 
hope  that  they,  admirably  suited  because  each  needed  just 
what  the  other  had  to  give,  possibly  might  somehow  get  a 
start  in  the  direction  of  making  a  match  of  it.  She  had  the 
most  convincing  of  reasons  for  believing  that  the  heart  in 
need  of  balm  is  the  most  susceptible  to  it.  But  she  did  not 
believe  that  Basil's  heart  was,  at  least  latterly,  involved; 
and,  as  she  had  not  a  glimmer  of  a  suspicion  of  his  stolen 
draughts  of  "  moral  tonic,"  she  could  not  credit  the  story 
so  clearly  written  upon  those  radiant  features. 

"  You  don't  mean  you  got  him !  "  she  exclaimed,  laying 
her  brush  on  the  rest  and  leaning  back.  And  in  her  amaze- 
ment and  excitement  over  this  sudden  freakish  prank  of 
fate,  out  of  her  mind  flew  all  the  wretched  thoughts  over 
which  she  had  been  brooding — thoughts  centering  about  her 
own  ugly  part  in  that  scene  at  the  laboratory. 

Helen,  undisturbed  by  this  frankness  of  woman  to 
woman  friend,  when  there  are  no  listeners,  flung  ecstatic 
arms  about  her  and  kissed  her  on  either  cheek.  "  I'm  so 
happy !  "  she  cried.  "  And  I  owe  it  all  to  you." 

483 


THE  HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Engaged  ?  "  inquired  Courtney,  the  utter  impossibility 
of  the  thing  down-facing  the  clear  evidence  of  its  actuality. 

Helen  held  up  her  left  hand,  displaying  the  old-fash- 
ioned diamond  rin^g  Basil  had  always  worn  on  his  little 
finger.  "  It  was  his  mother's,"  she  said,  regarding  it  with 
an  expression  in  the  big  brown  eyes  that  would  have  thrilled 
him,  had  he  seen.  It  thrilled  Courtney;  and  no  further 
proof  of  the  absolute  passing  of  Basil  was  needed  than  the 
unalloyed  pleasure  Helen's  happiness  gave  her.  "  En- 
gaged," said  Helen,  softly,  dreamily.  "  And  the  day  set — 
the  second  of  June." 

"  Splendid !  "  Helen,  she  felt,  was  secure ;  for,  Basil 
had  the  highest  respect  for  his  given  word. 

"  And  if  you  hadn't  sent  me  down  there,  I  do  believe 
it'd  never  have  happened.  Just  think ! — though  we've  loved 
each  other  practically  from  the  first  meeting.  He  says  it 
was  his  feeling  about  me  that  started  him  to  struggling 
against  that  bad  woman.  Do  you  remember " 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Courtney.  How  dead  it  all 
was! — dead  with  the  death  that  leaves  no  scar  upon  the 
heart,  only  a  lesson  in  the  memory.  How  could  it  ever 
have  seemed  living  ? — and  immortal ! 

"  Oh — of  course  you  remember.     You  knew  about  her." 

"  Not  much  about  her,"  replied  Courtney.  Pensively, 
"  Really,  nothing  at  all." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  know  anything.  The  less  a 
good  woman  knows  about  evil,  the  better.  ...  I  think  re- 
cently he  must  have  almost  succeeded  in  breaking  away; 
for,  to-day  I'm  sure  he  was  hesitating  at  the  parting  of  the 
ways — whether  to  go  back  to  her  or  not.  And  my  coming 
there  decided  him.  Isn't  it  beautiful?  " 

"  Like  a  fairy  tale,"  said  Courtney,  taking  up  her  brush 
and  eying  critically  the  little  landscape  to  which  she  was 

484 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

giving  the  finishing  touches.     "  But,  my  dear,  I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  tell  me  these  things." 

She  felt  selfish  in  saying  this;  Helen  had  inexperienced 
youth's  irresistible  craving  to  confide,  and  was  simply  burst- 
ing with  simple  and  innocent  vanity  over  having  achieved 
the  double  triumph  of  both  spiritual  and  worldly  advan- 
tage. But  Helen  was  not  to  be  suppressed  or  even  discour- 
aged. "  Oh,  yes,"  replied  she.  "  He  asked  me  to  tell  you 
we  are  engaged.  I  think  he  knows  you've  heard  about  that 
woman  who  was  dragging  him  down,  and  thought  you  could 
advise  me  whether  he  was  a  fit  man  for  me  to  marry.  You 
see  he  feels  he's  been  very  bad." 

"  Men  always  like  to  think  that,"  said  Courtney.  "  But 
as  long  as  they  think  so,  they're  not.  No,  he  isn't  bad,  as 
men  go.  He  wants  to  settle  down.  And  he  will  settle 
down — with  you."  She  was  looking  at  the  landscape  but 
her  quizzical  eyes  were  seeing  the  pair  of  them  a  few  years 
hence,  contentedly  yawning  at  each  other,  leading  the  con- 
ventional life  of  the  well-to-do  that  swathes  them  body  and 
mind  in  soft,  indolent  fat. 

Helen  had  only  half  listened  to  Courtney,  as  she  cared 
as  little  as  the  next  woman  about  her  lover's  past,  and  knew 
for  herself  that  he  was  high-minded  and  of  the  noblest  in- 
stincts. She  halted  her  own  and  Courtney's  musings  with 
an  absent,  "  I  feel  that  way  about  it,  too."  She  moved 
nervously  about  the  room,  from  time  to  time  casting  an 
appealing  glance  at  her  absorbed  friend.  Finally  she  burst 
out  desperately :  "  There's  something  I  want  your  advice 
about.  I  don't  know  whether  I've  done  right  or  not." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Courtney,  encouragingly. 

"  I  hadn't  told  you  but — the  fact  is — while  I  was  on 
that  visit  to  Saint  X,  I — I  became  engaged  to  Will  Arbuth- 
not." 

485 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Courtney  looked  laughingly  at  her  over  the  suspended 
brush.  "  Oh,  Helen— Helen !  " 

"  But  let  me  explain,  dear,"  begged  Helen,  cheeks  scar- 
let and  eyes  down.  "  When  I  went  up  there — and  until 
just  a  few  minutes  ago — I  thought — "  Her  faltering  voice 
died  away  altogether. 

"  Thought  there  was  no  hope  of  getting  Basil/'  said 
Courtney,  with  no  censure,  with  only  sympathy.  She  re- 
sumed touching  up  the  picture  to  ease  Helen's  embarrass- 
ment. "  Go  on." 

"  I  thought  he  was  hopelessly  in  the  power  of  that 
bad  woman.  So,  I  put  my  feeling  for  him  out  of  my 
heart.  ...  I  know  you're  laughing  at  me.  You're  so 
cynical,  Courtney.  But  a  girl  has  got  to  do  the  best  she 
can.  And  it's  getting  harder  and  harder  for  a  poor  girl 
to  marry — that  is,  to  marry  a  man  with  anything.  And 
brought  up  as  I've  been  I  have  to  have  nice  surroundings. 
I  want  a  good  home — and — and — children — and  they 
must  be  educated  properly — and  able  to  keep  their  place 
in  our  station  of  life." 

"  Certainly,"  reassured  Courtney.  "  You  did  the  prac- 
tical, sensible  thing." 

"  I  know,  what  I  did  seems  to  bear  out  your  ideas. 
You're  always  teasing  me  about  my  ideals  being  mostly 
pretense.  Well,  perhaps  they  are.  It  does  look  like  it — 
doesn't  it?  " 

"  Everybody's  are,"  said  Courtney,  squinting  at  the 
picture.  "  Ideals  are  paste  pearls.  One  can  wear  much 
bigger  and  finer  ones  than  of  the  real — and  nobody  knows 
they're  paste — or  need  ever  know  if  one's  careful  to  avoid 
their  being  tested.  I'm  glad,  dear,  you  weren't  so  foolish 
as  you  always  insisted  you'd  be." 

Helen  looked  as  if  her  soul  were  freed  of  a  huge 
486 


weight.  "  I  will  say,  Courtney,  that  I'd  never  think  of 
confiding  in  any  person  who  believes  like  me,  while  I 
always  feel  safe  in  confiding  in  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Courtney  with  genuine  gratitude. 
"  You  don't  know  what  a  flattering  compliment  that  is. 
.  .  .  So,  you're  engaged  to  Will  Arbuthnot?  " 

"  Yes — that  is,  up  at  Saint  X  Will  asked  me  to  marry 
him.  He's  a  nice,  clean,  thoroughly  good  fellow.  And 
when  Basil  went  away  I  supposed  he'd  gone  to  that 
bad " 

"  I  understand,"  interrupted  Courtney.  "  Never  mind 
about  her." 

"  I  felt  I  could  grow  to  like  Will,  and  I  put  Basil  out 
of  my  heart."  There  she  fluttered  a  guiltily  uneasy  glance 
at  Courtney. 

"  And  now,"  teased  Courtney,  "  you  give  the  naughty 
man  the  preference  over  the  nice  one." 

"  That's  just  it!  "  exclaimed  Helen  in  triumph.  "  Basil 
needs  me.  I  did  hesitate — at  least,  I  tried  to — until  he 
begged  me  to  strengthen  him  by  saying  yes.  Then  I  felt 
it  was  clearly  my  duty."  Helen  took  Courtney's  amused 
nod  at  her  landscape  as  approval.  "  And  while  I  hated 
to  do  a  thing  that  in  a  way  might  seem  deceitful — 
still,  Basil  has  such  an  exalted  opinion  of  me — and 
it  helps  him,  to  feel  that  way — and  if  he  had  found 
out  that  I  hadn't  loved  him  all  along — or  if  I'd  asked 
him  to  wait — I  might  have  lost  all  chance  to  help  him 
to  be  the  noble,  good  man —  Don't  smile  that  way, 
Courtney." 

And  Courtney  instantly  changed  her  smile  to  one  of 
tenderness.  "  I  know  you're  good  and  sweet,  dear — and 
beautifully  sincere,"  said  she.  with  perfect  honesty ;  for,  ex- 
perience had  left  in  her  little  of  the  familiar  self-com- 

487 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

placence   that  condemns   human   beings   for   human   traits. 
"  Much  too  good  for  Basil." 

"  Of  course/'  said  Helen,  beaming,  "  a  woman  who  has 
kept  herself  pure  is  superior  to  a  man  who  has  not  been 
clean  and  nice." 

"  Always  make  Basil  feel  that,"  advised  Courtney. 
"  He's  the  kind  of  man  that  can  behave  only  when  he's  on 
his  knees — and  you're  the  kind  of  woman  that  prefers 
worship  to  love.  ...  I  suppose  you'll  live  in  the  East." 

"  In  New  York,  I  think,"  replied  Helen,  reflectively. 
"  He  talks  of  the  country.  But  I've  had  enough  of  that. 
I'm  sure  he'd  be  better  contented  in  a  city." 

Courtney  laughed  gayly.  "  What  a  dear  you  are !  "  she 
exclaimed,  looking  at  her  friend  tenderly.  "  And  so  abso- 
lutely unconscious  of  it." 

Helen  returned  her  gaze  in  unaffected  surprise.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean.  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  " 

"  Nothing."  Courtney  was  painting  again.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  Will  Arbuthnot  ?  " 

"  Why,  be  perfectly  honest  with  him,"  cried  Helen,  in- 
jured and  reproachful.  "  I  simply  couldn't  be  deceitful." 

"  Tell  him  you've  found  you  can  make  a  better  matcli  ? 
Oh,  you  mustn't  do  that." 

"  I  should  think  not ! "  exclaimed  Helen,  horrified. 
"  That  wouldn't  be  the  truth.  No,  I'll  tell  him  I  find 
I  don't  love  him  as  a  woman  should  love  the  man  she's  to 
give  herself  to.  You  know  I've  got  the  old-fashioned  ideals 
— that  is,  ideas — of  the  sacredness  of  womanhood.  He'll 
understand." 

"  Yes,"  said  Courtney  gravely,  though  her  eyes  were 
dancing,  "  he'll  have  a  deeper  reverence  for  true  woman- 
hood. .  .  .  Well,  the  men  deserve  it.  They're  responsible 
for  our  not  daring  to  be  our  natural  human  selves." 

488 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  But  I  am  natural,  dear/'  remonstrated  Helen  warmly. 

Courtney  was  busily  trying  for  a  shade  of  brown  on  her 
palette.  "  You're  sure  Basil  won't  hear  of  your  other  en- 
gagement? Remember,  he  knows  several  Saint  X  people." 

"  I  made  an  agreement  with  Will  that  we'd  keep  it  a 
secret  until  we  got  ready  to  marry."  Courtney  laughed 
again;  it  was  so  obvious  what  lingering  longing  and  hope 
had  prompted  this  precaution.  "  What  are  you  laughing  at 
now?  "  asked  Helen. 

"  I  wouldn't  spoil  your  innocence  by  telling  you/'  re- 
plied Courtney.  And  she  rose  and,  palette  in  one  hand, 
brush  in  the  other,  .kissed  her  affectionately.  "  I'm  glad 
you're  happy — and  I'm  sure  you'll  always  be  happy." 

"  Indeed  I  shall.  And  he'll  be  happy  too.  As  he 
said,  he's  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  deceit  and  false- 
hood, and  he  needs  to  be  lifted  up  into  purity  and  love 
and — and — all  that  makes  a  good  home  and  life  on  a  high 
plane." 

Courtney  was  smiling  strangely  into  her  color  box. 
"  You'll  be  married  in  Saint  X  at  Mrs.  Torrey's,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

Helen  began  her  answer  in  a  place  so  remote  that  Court- 
ney, used  as  she  was  to  the  complexities  of  feminine 
thought,  was  completely  baffled.  Said  Helen:  "Will 
Cousin  Richard  think  me  disloyal,  marrying  a  man  he's  at 
outs  with?  " 

Courtney  reflected.  "  I  don't  know  what  he'll  think," 
she  said.  "  But  you've  got  to  consider  yourself  first — and 
Basil." 

"  Yes,  certainly — "  Again  Helen  was  only  half  listen- 
ing. "  About  the  wedding,"  she  presently  said.  "  I  was 
thinking  it  out,  while  Basil  and  I  were  talking " 

"  Helen — Helen !  "  And  the  small  head  with  its  au- 
489 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

burn  crown  shook  in  mock  disapproval.  "  Not  while  he 
was  making  his  first  love  to  you?  " 

Helen  reddened.  "  I  had  to  think  about  things.  You 
know,  a  woman  can't  afford  to  let  herself  loose  like  a  man. 
And  I  decided  it'd  be  best  for  us  not  to  announce  the  en- 
gagement, but  just  to  marry.  And  not  at  Saint  X.  I'll 
go  up  to  Aunt  Lida's  in  Laporte.  What  is  it,  dear?  Why 
do  you  look  so  queer?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing."  Courtney  had  no  desire — indeed, 
what  would  have  been  the  use? — to  tell  her  thoughts  as 
she  viewed  the  swamp  of  deceit  and  double  dealing  into 
which  Helen  and  Basil  were  dragging  each  other  in  pursuit 
of  those  will-o'-the-wisp  ideals.  Ideals !  But  Courtney's 
lip  did  not  curl  in  scorn  as  it  would  have  curled  a  few 
months  before.  She  had  learned  that  supreme  lesson  of 
tolerance — even  when  you  are  sure  you  are  right,  not  to 
fancy  that  what  is  right  for  you  is  right  for  anyone  else. 

"  No,"  Helen  was  saying,  "  I'll  not  tell  Richard.  It 
would  annoy  him  and  do  no  good.  Oh,  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  to  be  so  happy  when  you  are  un- 
happy." 

"  I — unhappy  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  conceal  it,  dear.  You're  brave  and  self- 
reliant.  But —  Isn't  there  anything  I  could  do  to  bring 
you  and  Dick  together  again?  You're  a  woman,  dear. 
You  simply  have  to  be  taken  care  of,  and " 

"  Don't  shadow  your  romance  with  worry  about  rae," 
said  Courtney  nervously.  She  was  all  confusion  and  rest- 
lessness. 

"  But  I  can't  help  it,"  pleaded  Helen.  "  I  know  Rich- 
ard was  neglectful.  And  he's  not  an  attractive  man  to  a 
woman,  as  Basil  is — isn't  livable  and  lovable  like  Basil " 

Helen  went  on  and  on  contrasting  the  two  men,  to 
490 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

Richard's  disadvantage  at  every  point.  In  former  days 
she  had  been  too  much  "  afraid  Richard'll  find  out  how 
foolish  I  am  and  how  little  I  know  "  to  get  in  the  least 
acquainted  with  him ;  since  the  divorce  they  had  talked  only 
constrained  commonplaces,  when  she  took  Winchie  to  him. 
Thus,  the  comparison  was  grotesque  distortion  of  Richard. 
But  Courtney  was  not  tempted  to  try  to  set  her  right. 
Helen,  of  small  mentality  and  in  love  with  Basil,  would 
not  appreciate,  would  not  be  convinced,  would  simply  be 
irritated — would  probably  misunderstand  and  be  encour- 
aged to  pursue  her  absurd  scheme  for  bringing  them  to- 
gether. But  parallel  with  Helen's  talk  there  was  in  Court- 
ney's mind  a  juster  contrasting  of  the  two  men — the  one 
strong,  the  other  weak;  the  one  real,  the  other  idealist; 
the  one  simple,  the  other  a  poseur;  the  one  intelligent, 
the  other  merely  conceited;  the  one  master  of  his  emotions, 
the  other  their  slave;  the  one  an  original,  the  other  a  pat- 
tern, an  identical  sample  of  thousands  turned  out  by  the 
"  best  families  "  and  the  "  best  colleges  "  and  the  "  best 
society."  And  then  it  came  to  her  why  she  had  estimated 
Basil  quickly  and  accurately,  once  she  began  it — that  it 
was  because  in  Richard  she  for  the  first  time  had  a  measure 
to  do  her  measuring  with.  The  mists  of  his  abstraction 
had  completely  hid  his  personality  from  her,  as  from 
everybody.  Those  mists  had  blown  away  in  the  cyclone  of 
the  disruption  of  their  marriage,  and  he  had  stood  revealed 
— and  Basil  also — Basil,  the  dwarf  beside  the  giant.  She 
could  see  how  the  lesser  man  had  made  what  was,  in  the 
circumstances,  irresistible  appeal  to  the  imperious  craving 
that  must  be  satisfied  before  the  need  of  heart  for  sym- 
pathy and  of  mind  for  comradeship  could  gain  a  hearing, 
the  craving  that  in  gaining  its  ends  will  compel  the  imagi- 
nation to  play  any  necessary  sorry  trick  upon  the  intelli- 

4-91 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

gence.  She  could  see  this ;  and  she  could  also  see  how  sorry 
the  trick  upon  intelligence  had  been — how  absurd  was  her 
dream  of  founding  a  life-long  content  and  happiness  upon 
what  Basil  could  give  her  and  she  Basil. 

"  I'm  sure,"  Helen  was  saying,  "  with  a  little  manage- 
ment you  could  get  Richard  back." 

These  words  fell  upon  Courtney's  ears  just  as  into  her 
mind  again  came  that  scene  between  her  and  Richard  at 
the  laboratory — the  childish,  the  coarse  taunts  she  had 
hurled  at  him,  and  how  he  had  met  them.  She  was  hot 
with  the  shame  of  it  when  Helen  spoke.  The  suggestion 
that  Richard  could  be  got  back  overwhelmed  her  with  a 
crushing,  stinging  sense  of  how  in  contempt  he  must  hold 
her  now.  The  red  of  her  skin  flamed  up  into  scarlet. 
"  Don't  speak  of  those  things,"  she  commanded  harshly. 
Then,  instantly  ashamed  of  this  misdirected  outburst  of 
temper,  she  put  on  her  most  careless,  frivolous  air — put  it 
on  well  enough  to  deceive  Helen.  "  Let's  talk  trousseau," 
said  she.  "  You  haven't  much  time,  you  know.  June's 
very  near." 

But  Helen  was  too  curious  about  the  trouble  that  had 
so  abruptly  changed  a  friendship  into  hatred.  "  It  must 
have  been  exciting — that  quarrel  between  them,"  she  hinted 
encouragingly.  "You  were  there,  weren't  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Tell  me,  Courtney." 

"  It  cured  my  cold,"  said  Courtney.  "  I'd  been  feeling 
queer  in  the  nose  and  eyes " 

"  How  can  you  be  so  light !  "  exclaimed  Helen.  "  Well 
— let's  talk  trousseau."  She  felt  that  she  had  done  her 
duty,  that  it  was  a  waste  of  time  to  try  to  induce  Courtney 
to  be  serious — "  She  never  will  have  any  sense  of  respon- 
sibility— or  of  the  graver  side  of  life."  And  with  a  clear 

492 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

conscience  she  took  up  trousseau  and  thought  and  talked 
dress  steadily  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  straight  through 
until  the  supper  gong  sounded.  And  she  asked  so  many 
questions,  so  much  minute  advice  about  every  little  detail 
that  Courtney's  attention  could  not  wander. 

At  supper  Courtney  got  a  real  pleasure  from  Helen's 
rapt,  tenderly  smiling  countenance — they  could  not  talk 
before  Lizzie  as  the  engagement  was  to  be  kept  secret. 
Also,  she  got  pleasure  mingled  with  amusement  out  of 
Helen's  delightful  swift  assumption  of  the  ways  of  a  mar- 
ried woman,  and  out  of  her  immense  satisfaction — as  shown 
in  a  certain  sweet  and  loving  condescension  to  Courtney — 
over  Basil's  superiority  as  a  catch.  Helen  was  in  fancy 
already  married  and  installed  in  grandeur.  But  after 
supper,  when  Helen  went  up  to  write  her  first  love  letter — 
(those  to  Will  Arbuthnot  didn't  count) — Courtney  made 
no  attempt  to  save  herself  from  the  attack  of  the  blues  that 
had  been  threatening  ever  since  she  calmed  sufficiently  to 
recall  what  she  had  said  to  Dick  at  the  laboratory.  She 
sat  at  the  piano  playing  softly.  Helen's  face  was  haunting 
her — that  expression  telling  of  dreams  she  understood  so 
well — so  well!  Would  Helen's  dream  fade  too?  Prob- 
ably— yes,  certainly — for,  the  Helen  sort  of  woman  soon 
discouraged  love  in  a  man,  and  the  Basil  sort  of  man 
looked  askance  at  love  as  tainted  of  that  devil  whom  no 
one  believed  in.  any  more  yet  everyone  feared.  Fade — 
wither — die.  And  she  herself — would  she  seek  on  and  on, 
deceived  always  by  hopes  and  longings — as  she  had  been 
twice  already — the  second  time  worse  deceived  than  the 
first 

Into  her  thoughts  came  an  image  of  Richard.  The 
image  grew  stronger.  Very  gradually  she  realized  that 
32  493 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


he  was  actually  before  her,  was  the  tall  figure  in  the  door- 
way of  the  sitting  room 

"  I  didn't  dare  interrupt/'  he  said.  "  It  would  have 
been  like  disturbing  a  funeral." 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that/'  replied  she  witli  an  at- 
tempt to  smile.  Though  her  rose-bronze  coloring  enabled 
her  to  blush  deeply  without  detection,  had  the  corner  where 
she  was  sitting  been  less  dim  he  must  have  seen  into  what 
shamefaced  confusion  his  corning  threw  her. 

She  went  on  playing;  he  seated  himself  at  some  distance 
from  her  to  gaze  into  the  fire  and  smoke.  She  was  on  the 
grill  of  humiliating  thoughts  about  herself — what  she  had 
said  and  done  that  afternoon.  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes 
until  she  had  made  sure  by  several  furtive  glances  that 
she  could  look  at  him  in  safety.  She  watched  him — the 
cigarette  gracefully  between  the  long  first  and  second 
fingers  of  his  hand  of  the  aristocrat  and  the  artist— the 
poise  of  his  curiously  long  head  so  well  proportioned — the 
long,  sensitive,  mobile  features — that  indescribable  look 
which  proclaims  at  a  glance  the  man  of  high  intelligence 
— the  man  of  the  finely  organized  nervous  system.  Then 
she  observed  that  he  was  in  evening  half  dress — one  more 
reason  for  his  looking  unusually  handsome  and  distin- 
guished. But  all  the  time  she  was  seeing  those  two  ex- 
pressions which  had  transformed  him  that  afternoon — had 
transformed  him  and  had  made  her  feel  mean  and  poor 
beside  him.  A  man  who  could  be  such  a  wild  hot  blast 
of  primeval  passion;  the  man  who  could  be  stronger 
than  passion,  even  such  passion — there  was  indeed  a  man ! 
And  what  must  he  think  of  her !  "  But  no  worse  than  I 
deserve." 

To  break  the  current  of  her  own  thoughts,  she  inter- 
rupted his  with  a  trivial  "  You  are  dressed  this  evening." 

494 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

"  Because  I've  come  to  call,"  he  replied,  rousing  him- 
self from  his  reverie. 

"  I'll  tell  Helen." 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you — if  you'll  listen."  She  stopped 
the  soft  wandering  of  her  fingers  over  the  keys.  "  No,  go 
on  playing,  please." 

She  resumed.  Now  her  eyes  were  on  the  keyboard, 
and  she  was  having  no  easy  task  of  it  finding  the  right 
keys  and  striking  the  right  chords,  all  the  time  conscious 
of  his  steady  penetrating  gaze.  "  It's  nearing  the  time 
you  fixed  for  going  East,"  he  began. 

She  nodded  slowly  in  time  to  the  music.  He  was  so 
seated  that  the  piano  prevented  his  seeing  any  of  her  but 
her  bare  shoulders  and  graceful  head  with  its  masses  of 
auburn  hair,  against  a  background  of  palms  and  ferns. 
"I'm  glad  the  spring  is  so  backward  this  year,"  she  said; 
for,  she  had  learned  not  to  fear  his  misunderstanding,  if 
she  spoke  out  her  thoughts.  "  If  it  were  really  spring  with 
the  grounds  all  in  bloom  and  the  windows  wide —  It  makes 
me  sad  to  think  of  that." 

She  had  thought  she  might  perhaps  soften  his  contempt 
by  reminding  him  that  there  was  another  and  a  less  repel- 
lant  side  to  her  character.  But  as  soon  as  the  words  were 
out,  she  wished  she  had  not  spoken;  it  was  useless  to  try 
to  make  him  think  well  of  her.  He  was  probably  regretting 
that  he  had  let  her  have  Winchie.  She  looked  appeal- 
ingly  toward  him,  hoping  he  would  speak — say  any- 
thing— no  matter  what,  so  long  as  it  broke  that  silence 
of  painful  suspense.  When  she  could  endure  it  no 
longer,  she  suddenly  burst  out :  "  You've  come  to  ask  me 
to  leave  at  once.  You  are  right.  I'll  go  as  soon  as  I 
can  pack." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  he,  eyes  still  intent  upon  the 
495 


tall  shafts  of  flame  leaping  toward  the  cavernous  blackness 
of  the  chimney.  "  I've  come  to  ask  you  not  to  go  at  all." 

His  tone  was  calm  and  self-controlled.  It  contained  no 
suggestion  of  ominous  meaning;  nor  did  his  face. 

"  I — I  don't  understand/'  she  ventured,  nervously. 

"  I  want  to  propose,"  explained  he,  in  the  same  delib- 
erate way,  "  that  we  give  each  other  another  trial." 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  meaning.  In  the  sudden 
reversal  from  all  she  had  been  expecting  and  fearing,  her 
thoughts  became  mere  chaos.  Hands  resting  upon  the  keys, 
she  sat  silent,  rigid — waiting. 

He  turned  his  chair,  leaned  toward  her,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees.  "  Is  the  idea — is  it — distasteful  to  you  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Carefully,  with  her  tapering  fingers  she  measured 
chords  without  striking  them.  "  Not  distasteful,"  said  she. 

"  You  do  not  dislike  me — now?  " 

"  I  never  have,  except  for  a  few  minutes  now  and  then 
— when  you  said  or  did  tyrannical  things."  Painfully  em- 
barrassed, she  was  trying  to  regain  control  of  herself  under 
cover  of  arranging  the  chiffon  round  the  edge  of  the  bosom 
of  her  dress. 

"  Courtney,  I'm  a  different  man  from  what  I  was." 

"  Yes,"  she  assented,  without  reserve.  "  Very  differ- 
ent. But " 

"  Don't,  please,"  he  said,  before  she  could  begin  to  ex- 
plain. "  When  you've  heard  my  reasons  for  asking  you 
to  stay,  you  may  think  well  of  them.  If  not,  why  you 
at  least  can  refuse  more  intelligently.  This  afternoon, 
when  Gallatin  was  down  at  the  laboratory  making  an  ass 
of  himself,  you  whirled  upon  me  with  some  very  vivid 
reminders  of  what  you  had  been  to  him." 

"  I  was  insane  with  rage — not  that  it  wasn't  all  true — 
496 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

only — I — it  was —  She  hung  her  head — "  Oh,  I'm  so 
ashamed  ! — so  ashamed !  "  she  cried. 

"  I'm  glad  you  did,"  interrupted  he,  heartily.  "  You 
thought  to  infuriate  me.  And  you  did,  for  a  moment. 
Then — I  was  astonished  to  find  myself  quite  calm.  Do 
you  know  why?  " 

"  Yes.     Because  you  care  nothing  about  me." 

"  Because  I  care  nothing  about  him.  Because  I  know 
you've  ceased  to  think  you  care  about  him — care,  you  never 
did.  Since  I've  come  to  my  senses,  I've  been  getting  ac- 
quainted with  you.  And  I  know  you  do  not  and  never  did 
and  never  could  love  Basil  Gallatin.  That  is,  the  woman 
you  are  now — the  only  one  that  interests  either  of  us — never 
did  and  never  could." 

The  deep  green  eyes  glanced  gratefully  toward  him. 
"  That's  true." 

"  It  was  simply  what  you  and  I  went  through  with 
when  we  first  met — and  became  engaged — and  got  mar- 
ried." 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  Much  the  same.  But — "  Her  eyes 
met  his  fully.  "  It  wouldn't  be  honest  if  I  didn't  say  too 
that  I  do  not  regret — about  him.  I  suppose  there's  some- 
thing wrong  with  me,  but  somehow  I  don't  seem  able  to 
regret  anything  I  do — even  the  things  I'm  ashamed  of — 
like  what  I  said  this  afternoon.  It  all  seems  part  of  ex- 
perience. It  seems  necessary.  That  experience  with  him 
— it  helped  me  toward  learning  to  live." 

She  expected  that  he  would  be  offended  by  her  frank- 
ness. But  he  was  not.  "  It  helped  you  toward  learning 
to  live,"  he  assented,  like  one  stating  an  indisputable  truth. 
"  And  it  helped  me.  No,  more  than  that.  It  taught  me. 
...  I  wish  the  lesson  could  have  been  got  in  some — some 
other  way.  Perhaps  you  do,  too."  She  nodded,  gazing 

497 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

thoughtfully  across  the  piano  into  the  fire.  "  But,"  he 
went  on,  "  fate  doesn't  let  us  choose  our  way — or,  per- 
haps, there's  no  nice,  refined  way  of  getting  one's  full 
growth,  any  more  than  there  is  for  a  tree.  It's  simply  got 
to  stand  outdoors  in  all  weathers,  and  learn  to  survive  and 
grow  strong,  no  matter  what  comes." 

"  And  the  things  that  seem  to  hinder,  often  help  most 
— and  those  that  look  like  helps  are  enemies." 

She  saw  his  understanding,  appreciative  look,  though 
her  eyes  were  gazing  past  him;  and  she  liked  it.  "  We've 
both  learned,"  said  he.  "  And  we've  both  been  put  in  the 
way  of  learning  more.  Now  why  shouldn't  you  and  I  use 
our  experience  to  the  best  advantage  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  try,"  said  she. 

"  Then  it's  simply  a  question  of  what  is  the  best  advan- 
tage. Isn't  it  for  us  both  to  stay  on  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  was  her  slow  reply.  "  Not  for 
either  of  us." 

"  But  you'll  listen  to  my  reasons  ?  Really  listen,  I 
mean.  You  know,  you  caught  my  bad  habit  of  not  listen- 
ing." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  a  forced,  uneasy  smile.  "  I'll 
listen." 

"  Well — first,  there's  this  place.  You  like  it,  don't  you  ? 
You  must,  since  you  made  it.  I've  found  that  out,  too." 

"  I  love  it,"  she  answered.  "  But — "  She  shook  her 
head. 

'  Now,  do  try  to  be  patient  with  me.  You  must  consider 
all  three  of  my  reasons  together.  That  was  only  number 
one.  Number  two  is  Winchie." 

She  searched  his  face  with  swift  terrified  eyes. 

He  smiled  a  frank  and  winning  reassurance  that  in- 
stantly convinced  her.  "  Please  put  that  kind  of  thoughts 

498 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 

about  me  out  of  your  mind  forever,"  he  urged.  "  I've 
learned  my  lesson — that  the  beginning  of  fear  is  the  end 
of  trust.  The  boy's  yours.  You've  got  the  right  to  him; 
he's  got  the  right  to  you.  Even  if  I  could  do  for  him,  it'd 
be  my  duty —  But  I  didn't  come  here  this  evening  to  talk 
about  duty.  That's  a  rotten  hypocrisy." 

"Is  this   Richard  Vaughan?"  she  cried  laughingly. 

"  The  same — minus  his  grandfather,"  replied  he,  eyes 
and  voice  echoing  her  laugh.  "  Xo  more  duty  for  me. 
When  anybody  talks  about  doing  his  duty,  he'd  better  be 
watched.  If  he  boasts  of  having  done  his  duty  he'd  better 
be  locked  up  while  they  find  out  what  mischief  he's  been 
at.  No,  I'm  out  for  honest,  selfish  inclination  only.  That 
brings  me  to  my  third  reason.  I  want  you  to  stay.  But — 
for  very  selfisn  sensible  reasons  I  want  you  to  want  to  stay. 
I've  gotten  acquainted  with  you.  I  need  you.  There's 
nobody  who  could  take  your  place." 

She  smiled  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  extravagant  kind- 
ness of  this. 

"  I  mean  just  that,"  he  went  on.  It  wasn't  the  words 
he  was  saying;  it  never  is  a  matter  of  words.  It  was  the 
way  he  said  it — the  force  behind  the  words,  like  the  force 
behind  the  projectile.  "  I  need  you.  Don't  you  think 
you  could  learn  to  need  me?  A  man  needs  a  woman.  A 
woman  needs  a  man.  We've  never  given  each  other  a  fair 
trial.  Why  shouldn't  we?  Now  that  you've  taught  me, 
I  don't  want  you  to  abandon  me.  And  why  should  you 
begin  all  over  again  with  another  man?" 

She  sat  motionless,  hardly  breathing,  it  seemed,  from 
the  stillness  of  her  bosom.  He  waited  long  but  no  answer 
came.  He  went  to  the  big  old-fashioned  chimneypiece, 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  logs ;  a  look  of  somberness  came 
into  his  face.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I've  said  my  say."  There 

499 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


was  silence  in  the  room.     He  drew  a  long  breath.     "  What 
do  you  think  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  head.  With  flushed  face  and  reproachful, 
almost  resentful  eyes  she  cried :  "  You've  no  right  to  come 
at  me  that  way.  You  make  it  hard  for  me  to  do  as  I  wish." 

"You  wish  to  go?     Then  it's  settled."     He  turned  his 
face  to  the  fire,   and   she   could  not   see   it.      "  We'll   not ' 
speak  of  this  again."     His  voice  seemed  natural;  but  there 
must  have  been  some  subtle  quality  in  it  that  set  her  nerves 
to  vibrating. 

"  And  you,"  she  cried,  "  are  thinking  '  How  mean  and 
ungrateful  she  is — after  my  generosity  to  refuse  to 

"  Not  so ! "  he  protested  sharply,  wheeling  round. 
"  I've  not  been  generous.  When  I  told  you  the  fault  was 
chiefly  mine,  I  meant  it." 

"  When  a  man  treats  a  woman  as  if  she  were  a  human 
being,  it's  generosity,  as  the  world  goes,"  insisted  she.  And 
then  the  words  began  to  pour  from  her  as  if  they  had  sud- 
denly found  an  outlet.  "  You  make  me  feel  small  and 
mean  in  refusing.  Oh,  I'm  grateful  for  the  way  you've 
treated  me — but  I  hate  myself  for  being  grateful — and  I'm 
ashamed  that  it  is  hateful.  But  I  can't  be  different. 
Your  generosity — your  forgiveness  hurt  my  pride.  They 
make  me  feel  I'm  your  inferior — and  I  am.  But  I  mustn't 
stay  where  I'd  feel  humble.  You  make  me  ashamed  to  go, 
but  I  know  I've  the  right  to  go — and  that  I  ought  to  go. 
I  must !  " 

"  Then — you  are  going/'  was  his  unhesitating  reply. 
"  I  don't  want  you  to  stay.  I  see  you  don't  believe  me — 
don't  understand  me — and  no  wonder.  It'd  be  useless  to 
try  again,  unless  we  were  both  determined  with  all  our 
hearts  to  make  a  success  if  success  was  at  all  possible." 

"  And  it  couldn't  be  a  success,"  said  she,  a  touching 
500 


THE   HUNGRY  HEART 


melancholy  in  her  voice,  in  her  deep,  mysterious  eyes. 
"  For,  a  man  doesn't  want  an  equal  woman  but  a  dependent 
— wants  his  woman  to  be  like  his  dog.  Oh,  what  a  world 
it  is! — where  everybody  cants  about  self-respect,  and 
everybody  prefers  cringers  to  friends,  fear  to  love !  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Vaughan,  in  the  quiet  forceful  manner 
that  fitted  so  well  his  air  of  reserve  power,  of  strength  with- 
out strenuosity.  "  And  that's  why  I  want  you.  Courtney, 
don't  you  see  that  you're  free  and  independent  here,  now? 
Don't  you  see  it'd  be  a  waste  of  time,  a  waste  of  energy, 
for  you  to  go  away?  You  may  not  need  me,  but  I  need 
you — in  every  way.  You  can  get  along  without  me.  But 
how  can  I  get  along  without  you?  Where  would  I  find  a 
woman  who  could  take  your  place  ?  " 

Her  bosom  was  rising  and  falling  stormily.  Her  eyes 
wandered,  as  if  she  were  desperately  seeking  a  way  of 
escape  and  had  scant  hope  of  finding  it. 

"  Can't  you  give  '  us  '  another  trial?  "  he  asked,  with 
proud  humility. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  cried,  starting  up  in  her  agitation.  "  I 
cannot!  I  must  go.  There's  everything  here  but  the  one 
thing  I  must  have — what  you  never  could  give  me,  after  all 
that's  happened — and  then,  there's  what  I  said  to  you  this 
afternoon.  We  never  could  look  at  each  other  without  my 
feeling  that  you —  Oh,  let's  not  talk  about  it.  I  must  go 
— I  must !  I  cannot  live  without  love — equal  love.  I  must 
seek  until  I  find  it — find  some  one  who  needs  me — all  of 
me — all  I  have  to  give — and  must  give." 

He  left  the  hearth  and  faced  her  with  the  length  of 
the  piano  between  them.  "  Could  you  love  me?  "  he  asked. 

His  voice  set  to  vibrating  nerves  she  had  thought  would 
never  again  respond  to  him.  She  trembled,  and  her  eyes 
sank.  "  Even  if  I  could — you  couldn't  love  me.  You  could 

501 


THE   HUNGRY   HEART 

forgive — could  be  generous  and  kind.  But  you  couldn't 
love." 

"  But  I  do  love  you,"  he  said.  And  she,  looking  at  him 
in  wonder,  thought  there  had  never  shone  eyes  so  near  to 
being  the  very  soul  itself.  "  I  began  to  love  you  when  you 
sent  Gallatin  away  and  faced  me  alone  and  did  not  lie.  I 
came  back  because —  You  were  like  the  air  to  me,  Court- 
ney. One  isn't  conscious  of  the  air  unless  he  hasn't  it,  and 
can't  breathe.  I've  loved  you  more  and  more,  day  by  day, 
ever  since.  And  I  shall  love  you  more  and  more — need 
you  more  and  more — every  day  until  I  die.  Courtney — 
can't  you  forgive  me?  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  did — and — 
I  love  you." 

She  sank  upon  the  piano  seat,  flung  her  slim  white  arms 
along  the  keyboad,  buried  her  face  in  them.  "  I've  found 
it!  "  she  sobbed.  "  I've  found  it!  " 

Several  discoveries  in  chemistry  give  Richard  Vaughan 
fame,  and  Courtney  shares  it.  But  they  value  it  all  at 
nothing  beside  the  discovery  which  gives  them  happiness: 
That  the  wise  make  of  their  mistakes  a  ladder,  the  foolish 
a  grave. 

(6) 
THE    END 


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GRET :    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
sttoiig  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
rent  with  the  wild  life — until  love  comes.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 
vention. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  j*t  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeatihg  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pint,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.  By  Josephine  Daskam.  Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.  A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 

REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.      Illustrated 

by  Elizabeth  Shipp  en  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 

THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katharine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MANFROMBRODNEY'S.  By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.  By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "Brer  Rabbit's  Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 

THE  CLIMBER.     By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsaaring  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.     Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  ot  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  "  of  Wall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

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A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  M  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himseli  famous,  and,  genius  being"  iU  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  ha  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  numerous 
bits  of  recent  fiction, 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

u  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  yonngr  man  is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci« 
eiit  lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock. 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.    By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  rholr  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
where  she  was  borr  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York  She  leaves  love  bohim'  her  andrneets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     IUus- 

trated  by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 
A  relentless  portrayal  of  •'.he  career  of  a  man  '..ho  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman:  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism, 

THE  SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Ed\,in 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  frorr>  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  dialogue  with  a  one  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL  IN  WAITING,     By  Archibald  Eyra,     Dlustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a,  light  touch,  a  ven- 
turesome spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE   SCARLET   PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy,     Illus- 

trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding:  in 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri- 
ous as  the  hero. 

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THE  MUSIC  MASTER.    By  Charles  Klein.      Illustrated 
,,        by  John  Rae. 

i  This  marvelously  vivid  narrative  turns  upon  the  search  of  a  Ger- 
.man  musician  in  JNew  York  for  his  little  daughter.  Mr.  Klein  has 
well  portrayed  his  pathetic  struggle  with  poverty,  his  varied  expe- 
riences in  endeavoring  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  public  not  trained 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  classic,  and  his  final  great  hour  when,  in 
the  rapidly  shifting  events  of  a  big  city,  his  little  daughter,  now  a 
beautifnl  young  woman,  is  brought  to  his  very  door.  A  superb  bit 
of  fiction,  palpitating  with  the  life  of  the  great  metropolis.  Th? 
play  in  which  David  Warfield  scored  his  highest  success. 

DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE.      By    Margaret   DelancO 

Illustrated  by  Lucius  Hitchcock. 

Mrs.  Deland  won  so  many  friends  through  Old  Chester  Tales 
that  this  volume  needs  no  introduction  beyond  its  title.  The  lova- 
ble doctor  is  more  ripened  in  this  later  book,  and  the  simple  come- 
dies and  tragedies  of  the  old  village  are  told  with  dramatic  charm. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 


from  life. 

HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE.    By  E.  P.  Roe. 

With  frontispiece. 

The  hero  is  a  farmer — a  man  with  honest,  sincere  views  of  life. 
Baieft  of  his  wife,  his  home  is  cared  for  by  a  succession  of  domes- 
tics of  varying  degrees  of  inefficiency  until,  from  a  most  unpromis- 
ing source,  comes  a  young  woman  who  not  only  becomes  his  wife 
but  commands  his  respect  and  eventually  wins  his  love.  A  bright 
and  delicate  romance,  revealing  on  both  sides  a  love  that  surmounts 
all  difficulties  and  survives  the  censure  of  friends  as  well  as  the  bit- 
terness of  enemies. 

THE  YOKE.    By  Elizabeth  Miller. 

Against  the  historical  background  of  the  days  when  the  children 
of  Israel  were  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  the  author  hai* 
sketched  a  romance  of  compelling  charm.  A  biblical  novel  as  great 
as  any  since  "  Ben  Hur." 

SAUL  OF  TARSUS.    By  Elizabeth  Miller.    Illustrated  by 

Andre"  Castaigne. 

The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  Jerusalem,  Alexandria,  Rome 
and  Damascus.  The  Apostle  Paul,  the  Martyr  Stephen,  Herod 
Agrippa  and  the  Emperors  Tiberius  and  Caligula  are  among  the 
mighty  figures  that  move  through  the  pages.  Wonderful  descrip- 
tions, and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  religious  romance. 

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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  el- 
derly bachelor  and  "his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.  Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in- 
definable charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.     By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search- 
ing analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.     By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.     Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back- 
ground for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re- 
sort, where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti- 
mate good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment 
THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.  The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  sou' 
of  the  blase  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER.      A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.    With  illustrations  by  C.  W, 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 
One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.    It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.     Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.    Dramatized,  it  made  the  great- 
est rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humorv 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven- 
tures" a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S.  Isham.  Illus- 
trated by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  oJt 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffer 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA    OF    THE   AIR    LANES.    By   Herbert 

Quick.    Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 

The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass'* 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.  An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair. 

"THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.  £y  Eleanor  M. 
Ingram.  Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 

The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.  Then  follow  his  cap- 
ture and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.  A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

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BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  sudden  possession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  looted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  earthy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels, 
author  of  "Bruwer  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  N- 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi- 
tions of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada, 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no- 
bility and  courage  of  character,  and  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  know. 
THE  MESSAGE.     By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 
C.  Chase. 

A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure- 
jead  from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  with  breathless  interest. 
THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.  By  David  M.  Parry.  Illus- 
trations by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  hito  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  man  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad- 
ventures but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE.  By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur 
Hornblow.  Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  police 
system. 

The  son  of  an  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities  that,  latei 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  of  a  dissipated  life= 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  sense 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law, 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT  By  Brand  Whitlock. 
A  realistic  western  story  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
of  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraordi- 
nary vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  the  tu- 
mult of  the  political  arena  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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